Just a Favor

[Robbie C.]

“Hey, Lar! Did I ever tell…”

Stan Switek stopped in mid-word, remembering he was alone in the Bug Van, and had been ever since the night his life ended. Well, maybe not his life exactly because he was still here and his best friend in the whole world wasn’t. But nothing would ever be the same again.

Outside heavy raindrops splattered against the windshield and thudded on the van’s metal roof. The squad was running surveillance on some Columbian or another - they all ran together most of the time - and it was his turn to watch. Sitting across the street from some fancy club where the Hardy Boys, Crockett and Tubbs, were striking their poses and drinking with the bad guys. At least when Larry was alive he had someone to talk to.

The radio hissed in his ear. “Hold positions. They’re coming out.”

Shaking his head, Stan pulled the flat whiskey bottle from under the seat and took a quick swig. The warm liquor left a warm trail in his throat and mellowed some of his pain and anger. Like he’d move too soon and blow the operation! Castillo should know better.

Realizing his anger was building again, Stan forced himself to take some deep, even breaths. To think of something funny Larry might have said in this situation. He’d lost track of the number of hours they’d spent together on stakeouts like this one. Rain, sun, wind, you name it. They’d be out in the Bug Van or some other hunk of junk borrowed from the impound lot. Never anything fancy, but it always got the job done. Kind of like them both.

Crockett came out first, waving his arms in some kind of tantrum. Tubbs trailed close behind, the suave man with the money. Stan had seen the routine so many times before he could damned near recite the lines. Sometimes he and Larry made up their own, filling in what they couldn’t hear with whatever struck them at the time. Things like, ‘come on, Sonny…how was I to know she was your mother?’ or ‘no, Rico, you still can’t drive the Ferrari!’ Little things that make them laugh. But he was always ready with the camera when the target came running out, trying to convince the two ‘big time players’ to come back and deal.

Of course it didn’t always work. Sometimes the two would come out shooting, and he and Larry would pile out of the Bug Van guns blazing. Other times no one would follow, and he’d get to watch the Hardy Boys pout for a couple of days before baiting their hook again.

He could feel his eyes narrowing into a glare as he watched Crockett heading for his car. Lou used to call him a hot dog, trying without much effect to rein him in. If Stan had one great disappointment with Martin Castillo it was the amount of leeway he gave those two. Especially Crockett. When you let him run, he got reckless. And as far as Stan was concerned Crockett’s recklessness had killed Larry. Pure and simple.

The camera’s auto-winder whirred as he held the button down, taking frame after frame of the Columbian trying to salvage something from the deal. Stan took the photos more from reflex than any hope they’d see the light of day in court or in any case review. Even the tape slowly turning in the back of the van catching every word sent over the wire in Tubbs’ alligator leather attache case wasn’t likely to be replayed more than once. It used to drive Larry crazy, but Stan would just chuckle. “It’s ‘cause we always get their bad sides, Lar. You know how sensitive the Hardy Boys are.”

He shook his head, realizing he’d said the words out loud instead of in his head. The radio hissed again. “Target is clear.” He’d hang around for a few more minutes in case something else shook loose and then head back to OCB and the inevitable debriefing.

 

Sonny Crockett slammed his hand on the table. “We almost had the bozo! Yeah, I know he’ll be back, lieutenant, but I…”

Stan sat in his usual spot halfway down the table, pretending he didn’t notice the empty chair next to him. Trudy and Gina sat toward the far end, and from time to time he caught Gina looking at him with what might have been pity. But all Sonny has to do is wiggle his finger and she’d go trotting right over. Then he shook his head. It wasn’t Gina’s fault she was lonely.

Tubbs cleared his throat. “Did you get some good photos, Switek?”

“Yeah. That and the whole thing’s on good old reel-to-reel. Not quite Dolby sound quality, but it’s good enough for court.”

“And you got all of it this time?”

“Yeah, Crockett. I did. Not my fault you forgot to turn on the mic last time.”

From the head of the table Castillo finally broke his silence. “I want more before we give this to the DA. Give Ernesto a day or so to get back in contact. The buy money is approved. I’d like to have him on tape and film doing the deal.” He looked up. “Everyone has work to do. Switek, wait for a minute.”

Stan ignored Crockett’s grin and only gave Trudy a slight nod when she passed. Once they were gone, he looked up the table at Castillo. “I’ll get some props started for the next meet, lieutenant. You’ll have your pictures and audio.”

“I know. What I want to know is how you’re doing.”

“Does it really matter, lieutenant? I’m doing my job. Nothing’s going to bring Larry back.” He wanted to say more, to ask him why the hell Crockett was still on the street instead of riding out a suspension, but he didn’t bother. It wouldn’t do any good.

“I need you at your best. This is an important case.”

Like hell it is. Just another two-bit dealer like all the rest. But Stan nodded. “I know. I’ll do the job, lieutenant. I’ve never let the unit down.”

Back in the squad room, Crockett looked up from a report as Stan walked out of the conference room. “So…did he give you a hard time about that tape?”

“Naw. I just told him I’d come up with a wire so foolproof even Sonny could use it.” Stan forced a smile and kept walking. Heading for the tech lab and his one refuge in the building.

Everything made sense here. The connections. How the lead ran into the recorder. How much tape you had and what speed you could run to vary that part of the surveillance equation. Sitting at his workstation, using an old soldering iron to put the finishing touches on his latest creation, Stan felt in control. Everything made sense here. And so long as you did your part, it all worked when you threw the switch.

Gina’s voice almost made him drop the hot iron. “Sonny didn’t mean…”

“You don’t need to be in here apologizing for him, Gina. Especially when you know he’s wrong.” Stan didn’t turn around. Focus on the work. It’s all you’ve got.

“Maybe…”

“Look. Larry’s dead. No one can change that. And he’s dead because Sonny Crockett pushed too damned hard on that case. I gotta live with those two facts every day. Just like I gotta live with the lieutenant and everything else around here.” He clenched his teeth, not wanting to say anything more. He’d already said too much. “Now I gotta finish this rig before they go out again. I get what you’re trying to do, Gina. But don’t. It won’t change anything.”

She stood there, like she was waiting for him to turn. But he didn’t. He didn’t trust himself to look at her. Finally she sighed and headed back to the squad room.

Stan didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until he let out a long sigh and turned his full attention back to the microphone. Or at least most of his attention. There was that little corner of his mind that wondered why Gina kept trying to make excuses for Crockett. And why she thought she needed to make them to him.

Almost an hour later he pushed back from the bench with a smile on his face. Everything checked out. The damned mic should be ready to go, and it would function perfectly even if Sonny Crockett managed to step on it. A quick look at the wall clock told him it was after five. Most of the unit would have gone home by now, and it was time he did the same. Or at least got out of OCB.

Mickey’s wasn’t a place tourists would look at twice, but it had been one of the spots Stan and Larry went to when they needed to unwind after work. The TVs were mostly on sports, with one given over to boxing any time a bout was on, cigars were for sale behind the bar, and the drinks were cheap. Something about it reminded Stan of the places his cab-driver father would take him on nights when he wasn’t giving his son crap for being a fat loser. He’d sit with a Coke while the old man placed bets on the bouts and talked with the bartenders about who was a contender and who was going to take a dive. Larry had been a boxing fan, and the sweet science had been their first bonding point when they both joined Vice.

Andy behind the bar grinned. “Evening Stan. The usual?”

“Yeah. Bud and a chaser. Make it whiskey.” Stan settled into his usual stool just to the right of the cash register. What had been a weekly trip with Larry had become nightly. A couple of drinks and some talk to calm his nerves before heading back to his simple walk-up in one of the cookie cutter apartment complexes springing up around town. Since Larry was murdered he’d started to understand a bit about why his father had a similar routine.

“Here ya go.” Andy set the bottle and shot glass down with a lopsided grin. “What are we drinkin’ to tonight?”

“Hell, I don’t know. Maybe because it’s a day that ends in Y.” Stan knocked back the shot, feeling the sharp whiskey bite, and chased it with a deep slip of Budweiser.

“Ha. A day that ends in Y. I like that. You ready for another shot?”

“Naw. Let me finish the beer first.” He nodded toward the TV. “Who do you like in this one?”

“Kid in the red trunks. He ain’t much t’ look at, but he’s got heart and good footwork. The one in purple? He’s slow. Tires out quick.”

“But if he connects the kid goes down.” Stan chuckled. “Tell you what. I’ll bet you a shot the big guy wins.”

Andy nodded. “You’re on. Hell, why not? It’s a slow night.”

Stan looked around and nodded himself. The place was damned near empty. Just the usual regulars toward the back watching what looked like baseball on one of the smaller TVs. “I don’t know how you stay open, Andy.”

“Aw, you know. We get by. Ain’t gonna retire on it, but ain’t goin’ to the poorhouse either.” He turned to look at the TV and grinned. “Looks like your boy’s suckin’ wind.”

“What? Ah, shit. You big dope! Breathe!” Stan took another drink of his beer and winced as the kid in red landed a solid midsection blow. “I can’t look!” He raised his hands, but peeked through his fingers just in time to see the bigger fighter double over and go down.

“Looks like you owe me a shot, Stan.”

“Who’s next on the card? How about double or nothing there?”

It was close to midnight when Stan finally staggered out of Mickey’s. Two drinks had stretched out to around ten, although in the end he’d only paid for about half of them. Once he got in the flow calling the fights got easier and easier. Or maybe Andy was paying less attention. Either way it had been one of his better nights since the funeral.

Light from the parking lot fixtures streamed through the front window as he opened the door of his apartment. He walked past the framed Elvis pictures on the wall, stopping for a moment to grin at the one of the King in his black leather jacket. “Thank you, thank you very much,” he muttered, remembering how that always got a chuckle from Larry no matter how bad the day had been. Then he pulled the curtains closed and turned on a small light by the couch. The burger he’d bough on the way home disappeared in four bites, and he sat staring at the blank screen of the TV. The booze was starting to wear off, and he could feel a wave of sadness washing over him. Forcing himself to his feet he headed for the bedroom. His neck was still sore from falling asleep on the couch two nights in a row, and he didn’t feel like going for a third.

The briefing room was full and overheated as usual. Stan sat in his new normal spot, nursing a cup of Gorman’s shitty coffee and vowing for the twentieth time to get in early enough to make the coffee himself. Crockett and Tubbs had their heads together at the top of the table, and Gina and Trudy both looked tired after a late night on some case or another. Although Trudy still found the energy to smile when she caught his eye. Stan smiled back. At least she’s trying. Not pretending nothing’s wrong.

Castillo took his seat at the head of the table, his black suit looking almost as rumpled as Stan’s Hawaiian shirt. “Report.” His voice was dry, and Stan guessed he’d slept in his office again.

Tubbs looked at Crockett, who just nodded. “We got a call last night from Ernesto. He still wants to deal. The meet’s on for tonight.”

Stan checked out as they went over the location. It would be some flashy club where background noise played hell with his tapes, and he’d be out in the van trying to take pictures in any case. Just tell me where to park and I’ll show up. He was running through a list of the equipment he’d need in his head when Castillo’s voice switched to him. “Is the equipment ready?”

“You bet, lieutenant. Finished it last night before I left. All I need to know is where they wanna wear it.”

Crockett snorted. “Is it smaller than a breadbox?”

“I can fit it into one of the buttons on Rico’s suit.” Stan bit back any number of retorts running through his mind. “The transmitter’s a bit bigger, but still smaller than a pack of smokes.”

Rico nodded. “Solid. I’ll stop by the lab for a fitting.”

“We’ll be using the other van. The Bug Van would stand out too much in this neighborhood. Will you need to move any equipment?”

“I’ll have to see what those clowns left in the van, lieutenant. Dibble likes to pull everything out when he’s done.”

“Lester had it last.”

“Then it should be fine, but I’ll check just to make sure. Lester’s a sharp cat. He might have even improved some stuff in that old rig.”

Crockett’s voice had a bored edge to it. “Just be ready to roll by 1900.”

“Trudy, Gina. I want you in the club before the meet. Another set of eyes can’t hurt, especially if it turns into a rip of some kind.”

Trudy nodded. “You got it, lieutenant. Working girls or classy ladies out on the town?”

Castillo actually smiled. “The latter. You’ll need to blend in.”

Stan forced himself to focus. The dull pain behind his eyes was back. Not a hangover! You gotta be kidding me! “Will they need any gear?”

“No. They won’t be close enough for microphones to work. And we don’t need to complicate the picture with another set of frequencies.”

“That would have been my advice. There’s gonna be enough background noise as it is. Don’t need to complicate it any more than we have to.”

Stan didn’t pay much attention to the rest of the briefing, and once Castillo let them go he took Tubbs over to the work room to get him fitted with the new wire. Rico shrugged off his seized Armani suit coat and watched with a smile as Stan started replacing one of the three buttons and running thread-thin wire from it to the slim transmitter he slipped into the inside pocket. “It’s thinner than your wallet, so it won’t ruin the lines of the coat. But it’s also got enough juice to get the signal over half a mile, which is what we need for this meet,” he explained as he went to work with a needle and thread to close up the seam he’d opened to run the wire.

“That’s pretty damned slick, Stan. Is it standard issue?”

“Naw. Just something I cooked up for this op. Might keep it around depending on how well it works in the field. It’s been tested, but…”

“Nothing’s a guarantee. I get it, man. No silver bullets.”

He handed the jacket back. “Test the fit. I can move the transmitter if it prints.”

Rico pulled on the jacket and buttoned it normally. Then he did a turn or two, checking it in the work room’s full-length mirror. “Can’t see a damned thing, and this is bright light. What if they pat me down?”

“It’s slim enough they shouldn’t notice. And it’s also flexible, so it’ll feel like a wallet and not like a transmitter. That and they usually pat down back and sides, not the front of a coat. That’s why I put it where I did. Right where they’d expect to feel a gentleman’s wallet. Especially a fat cat down from New York City.”

Tubbs chuckled again. “Sounds like you got it down, man. Those chumps shouldn’t notice a damned thing. Besides, Ernesto don’t have me patted down. It’s Sonny they always check.”

Nodding, Stan turned back to the workbench. “Go ahead and hit the button on the top of the transmitter.” He waited until Tubbs turned the unit on. “Looks good. Shut her down. You got about three hours worth of battery in that baby, so I’d leave it off until just before you go in. We’ll do a comm check as usual just to make sure everything’s good.”

“Nice work, Stan. Now I gotta go link up with Sonny and get our game plan down.”

Once Tubbs was gone, Stan looked back at the receiver for the small bug and sighed. He still needed to tie it into the tape machine in the backup van, check the cameras, make sure there was night vision gear just in case, and a hundred other small things. Stuff he used to do with Larry. The routine checks just made him miss his friend even more, and had been what got him bringing the pint whiskey bottle to work.

“Nice work with that bug, Stan.” Trudy’s voice filled the empty air in the room.

“Oh, didn’t hear you come in. Thanks. If it works good for this operation I might make a couple more.”

She nodded, walking over to the work table. “How are you holding up, Stan? I mean really.”

“One day at a time.” The revelation shocked him. “Sorry…that sounds…”

“It’s ok. I don’t advertise it, but my brother was murdered when I was a kid. I get how hard it is to lose someone you’re close to.” She paused. “I just wanted you to know someone on the team gets what you’re going through.”

“Thanks.” He wanted to say more but just couldn’t find the words.

She smiled. “I didn’t want to talk to anyone, either. It’s ok. When you’re read let me know.”

“Thanks, Trudy. I mean it.” He looked down at the mess of wires and small screws on the table top. “I don’t want to be an ass, but I just don’t know what to say yet.”

“I gotta get ready for the operation.” She chuckled. “Picking out clothes is harder than you boys think.” She paused, her eyes searching. “We’ll get through it, Stan.”

He held it together until she was gone, and then buried his head in his hands. “Will we? Shit, I wish I knew for sure.”

 

The backup van didn’t have the same homey feel as the Bug Van, but in some ways that was good. Fewer memories of Larry lurked in the cloth upholstery or dark corners of the cargo compartment. It was more neutral, letting Stan focus on the operation. Today instead of yesterday.

He was in the back with his headphones on, shifting dials a hair to cut static on the line and bring the conversation into better focus. The wire was working just like he’d planned, capturing every word at the table along with every clink of a glass or crunch as someone chewed ice from his drink. It was so clear if he closed his eyes he could see the Hardy Boys grinning at each other as they reeled the Columbian in.

The reels turned slowly, the recording heads working their magnetic magic transferring the signals to tape. There was something soothing about the whole process, something that called to Stan each time he settled in behind the console to run another wiretap or surveillance operation. He’d found his niche right after coming off uniform patrol, and his enthusiasm had brought Larry Zito along for the ride. They were both burned out on patrol in any case, and the purity of the tapes appealed to them both.

He tuned back into the conversation when they started talking weight and price. That’s what the DA would need, and what he wanted to capture as clear as possible. Another slight twist and the last bit of static cleared away as if by magic. “No way they can complain about that,” he muttered. “Just like you’re sittin’ at the same table.”

Ten minutes later it was over, the drinks gone and handshakes outside the club captured by his snapping camera. Stan gave them a few minutes to get clear, then fired up the van and eased it out of the parking lot across from the club. Just another working stiff heading home after a long day checking wiring or whatever the van looked like it had been doing. The kind of thing that disappeared into the background. Just like Stan most days.

OCB was almost deserted when he stopped in to log in the tapes and film. A dim light shone from Castillo’s office, but he didn’t head that way. He had no need to bother the lieutenant, and soon enough Crockett or Tubbs, or both, would be coming in to crow about the operation. No, he just wanted to take care of business and leave.

The property clerk barely looked up, just took the reels and rolls of film with a nod and wrote them up in his book. “Standard drill?”

“Yeah. Just want the chain of custody to be solid for the trial.”

“Got ya. Damned DA can’t lose another one because of sloppy paperwork.”

“You got that right, man. Have a good one.”

 

Mickey’s was almost empty again, but this time it was college football on the TV over the bar. Andy didn’t even ask, just opened a beer and poured the shot chaser. “Long day at the office?”

“Yeah. Can’t complain about the overtime, though.” Stan parked on his usual stool and jerked his head toward the TV. “Miami playing again?”

“Yeah.” Andy looked around. “There’s a little action on it if you’re interested.”

Stan was about to shake his head, but then grinned. “Hell, why not? I’ve got twenty on Miami by ten.” His mind flashed back to those days his father had taken him to bars like this and placed his own bets. They’d sit and yell at the TV together, and if he won the old man would buy him ice cream on the way home.

Andy walked down the bar to check on two older guys by the bathroom door, then came back. “Florida State’s on the other TV. Any interest in that one?”

“Naw. I’ll stick with the Canes for now.” Stan knocked back his whiskey and let the cool beer chase the warm liquor down his throat. “Larry never bet on football.”

“Who? Oh, yeah. Your buddy.”

“Yeah. He never bet on football. Never bet on things with four legs or more than two guys goin’ after each other was what he said.” He raised his beer. “Here’s one for you, Lar!”

Miami ended up losing, and Stan coughed up his twenty with a laugh. “Guess he was right. Aw, well. When it works, it works damned well.” He looked down the bar. “How did Florida State do?”

“Won by fifteen.”

“Figures, right?” He looked at the line of empty shot glasses. “Guess I’d best be hitting the road. Work tomorrow and all that.”

 

He was back the next night, parked on his stool after a day spent cleaning up the recordings and developing film, watching the Hardy Boys go through it looking for their best profile shots. Once or twice he’d thought about talking to Trudy, but each time he decided he just didn’t know what to say. At least at Mickey’s there wasn’t much talking.

Andy had the beer and shot ready as always, wiping down a spot on the bar with a rag that might have been clean in the Seventies. “You up for some action tonight, Stan?”

“Why the hell not? Who’s on tap?”

“Alabama. And I think Clemson for the late game.”

“Put twenty on each. Hell, they can’t both lose.”

“And the spread?”

“Six on Bama, four on the Tigers.” He looked down the bar. “Looks busier than usual.”

“Just some tourists. Nothin’ fancy.” Andy picked up Stan’s money and grinned. “I’ll go check on ‘em and be back with another shot.”

“You know me too damend well, Andy.” Stan grinned, knowing he should slow down but just not feeling it yet. The liquor numbed things just enough.

He watched the game on the flickering screen for a time, not really following the progress all that much. “You need to fix that damned set if you’re gonna be taking action,” he said when Andy stopped in front of him for a moment. The guys down the bar were keeping him busy, and they hadn’t been able to talk like normal.

“Yeah, but it ain’t easy when you’re splicing into the cable next door.” Andy chuckled and opened another Budweiser. “And good reception ain’t gonna change the fact that Clemson’s down by three. Bama pulled it out, though, so you’ll at least break even.”

Stan raised the fresh bottle. “Here’s to the damned Crimson Tide or whatever they call themselves.”

“Yeah.” Andy looked down the bar and lowered his voice. “Look, man, I know you ain’t into mixin’ business with off duty time, but I gotta ask. I’m lookin’ to hire a girl to work some nights, and I want to make sure she ain’t got a record.”

Stan shook his head. “I don’t know…”

“Maybe just run her plate? See if there’s anything bad. I don’t think she’s a mass murderer or anything, but if she’s got sticky fingers I don’t want her near the register.”

Cops do it all the time. Hell, I know Crockett runs every damned girl he dates. So does Tubbs. “I’ll look into it, man. You got her plate number?”

Andy winked. “That an’ her address. Just wanna make sure she gave the right info on the application.”

“Might take a day or two.”

“No problem. It’s just a favor.”

Stan folded the piece of paper and stuck it in his wallet. The beer was still tasting good and the game was winding down. He’d have maybe one more and head home. He didn’t pay any attention to Andy wandering down the bar to the two men standing where it was darkest. Hell, it’s no big thing. Like he said, just a favor.

[mjcmmv]

It's good to see some follow-up to what Stan was going through after Larry was killed. He was resentful and depressed and in this story, he seems to be unraveling right before your eyes. 

You're right when you say the show didn't do enough on this topic. Thanks for filling in the gaps with another good one!.  

 

[Matt5]

1 hour ago, mjcmmv said:

It's good to see some follow-up to what Stan was going through after Larry was killed. He was resentful and depressed and in this story, he seems to be unraveling right before your eyes. 

You're right when you say the show didn't do enough on this topic. Thanks for filling in the gaps with another good one!.  

 

I agree nice touch.

[Matt5]

14 hours ago, Robbie C. said:

“Hey, Lar! Did I ever tell…”

Stan Switek stopped in mid-word, remembering he was alone in the Bug Van, and had been ever since the night his life ended. Well, maybe not his life exactly because he was still here and his best friend in the whole world wasn’t. But nothing would ever be the same again.

Outside heavy raindrops splattered against the windshield and thudded on the van’s metal roof. The squad was running surveillance on some Columbian or another - they all ran together most of the time - and it was his turn to watch. Sitting across the street from some fancy club where the Hardy Boys, Crockett and Tubbs, were striking their poses and drinking with the bad guys. At least when Larry was alive he had someone to talk to.

The radio hissed in his ear. “Hold positions. They’re coming out.”

Shaking his head, Stan pulled the flat whiskey bottle from under the seat and took a quick swig. The warm liquor left a warm trail in his throat and mellowed some of his pain and anger. Like he’d move too soon and blow the operation! Castillo should know better.

Realizing his anger was building again, Stan forced himself to take some deep, even breaths. To think of something funny Larry might have said in this situation. He’d lost track of the number of hours they’d spent together on stakeouts like this one. Rain, sun, wind, you name it. They’d be out in the Bug Van or some other hunk of junk borrowed from the impound lot. Never anything fancy, but it always got the job done. Kind of like them both.

Crockett came out first, waving his arms in some kind of tantrum. Tubbs trailed close behind, the suave man with the money. Stan had seen the routine so many times before he could damned near recite the lines. Sometimes he and Larry made up their own, filling in what they couldn’t hear with whatever struck them at the time. Things like, ‘come on, Sonny…how was I to know she was your mother?’ or ‘no, Rico, you still can’t drive the Ferrari!’ Little things that make them laugh. But he was always ready with the camera when the target came running out, trying to convince the two ‘big time players’ to come back and deal.

Of course it didn’t always work. Sometimes the two would come out shooting, and he and Larry would pile out of the Bug Van guns blazing. Other times no one would follow, and he’d get to watch the Hardy Boys pout for a couple of days before baiting their hook again.

He could feel his eyes narrowing into a glare as he watched Crockett heading for his car. Lou used to call him a hot dog, trying without much effect to rein him in. If Stan had one great disappointment with Martin Castillo it was the amount of leeway he gave those two. Especially Crockett. When you let him run, he got reckless. And as far as Stan was concerned Crockett’s recklessness had killed Larry. Pure and simple.

The camera’s auto-winder whirred as he held the button down, taking frame after frame of the Columbian trying to salvage something from the deal. Stan took the photos more from reflex than any hope they’d see the light of day in court or in any case review. Even the tape slowly turning in the back of the van catching every word sent over the wire in Tubbs’ alligator leather attache case wasn’t likely to be replayed more than once. It used to drive Larry crazy, but Stan would just chuckle. “It’s ‘cause we always get their bad sides, Lar. You know how sensitive the Hardy Boys are.”

He shook his head, realizing he’d said the words out loud instead of in his head. The radio hissed again. “Target is clear.” He’d hang around for a few more minutes in case something else shook loose and then head back to OCB and the inevitable debriefing.

 

Sonny Crockett slammed his hand on the table. “We almost had the bozo! Yeah, I know he’ll be back, lieutenant, but I…”

Stan sat in his usual spot halfway down the table, pretending he didn’t notice the empty chair next to him. Trudy and Gina sat toward the far end, and from time to time he caught Gina looking at him with what might have been pity. But all Sonny has to do is wiggle his finger and she’d go trotting right over. Then he shook his head. It wasn’t Gina’s fault she was lonely.

Tubbs cleared his throat. “Did you get some good photos, Switek?”

“Yeah. That and the whole thing’s on good old reel-to-reel. Not quite Dolby sound quality, but it’s good enough for court.”

“And you got all of it this time?”

“Yeah, Crockett. I did. Not my fault you forgot to turn on the mic last time.”

From the head of the table Castillo finally broke his silence. “I want more before we give this to the DA. Give Ernesto a day or so to get back in contact. The buy money is approved. I’d like to have him on tape and film doing the deal.” He looked up. “Everyone has work to do. Switek, wait for a minute.”

Stan ignored Crockett’s grin and only gave Trudy a slight nod when she passed. Once they were gone, he looked up the table at Castillo. “I’ll get some props started for the next meet, lieutenant. You’ll have your pictures and audio.”

“I know. What I want to know is how you’re doing.”

“Does it really matter, lieutenant? I’m doing my job. Nothing’s going to bring Larry back.” He wanted to say more, to ask him why the hell Crockett was still on the street instead of riding out a suspension, but he didn’t bother. It wouldn’t do any good.

“I need you at your best. This is an important case.”

Like hell it is. Just another two-bit dealer like all the rest. But Stan nodded. “I know. I’ll do the job, lieutenant. I’ve never let the unit down.”

Back in the squad room, Crockett looked up from a report as Stan walked out of the conference room. “So…did he give you a hard time about that tape?”

“Naw. I just told him I’d come up with a wire so foolproof even Sonny could use it.” Stan forced a smile and kept walking. Heading for the tech lab and his one refuge in the building.

Everything made sense here. The connections. How the lead ran into the recorder. How much tape you had and what speed you could run to vary that part of the surveillance equation. Sitting at his workstation, using an old soldering iron to put the finishing touches on his latest creation, Stan felt in control. Everything made sense here. And so long as you did your part, it all worked when you threw the switch.

Gina’s voice almost made him drop the hot iron. “Sonny didn’t mean…”

“You don’t need to be in here apologizing for him, Gina. Especially when you know he’s wrong.” Stan didn’t turn around. Focus on the work. It’s all you’ve got.

“Maybe…”

“Look. Larry’s dead. No one can change that. And he’s dead because Sonny Crockett pushed too damned hard on that case. I gotta live with those two facts every day. Just like I gotta live with the lieutenant and everything else around here.” He clenched his teeth, not wanting to say anything more. He’d already said too much. “Now I gotta finish this rig before they go out again. I get what you’re trying to do, Gina. But don’t. It won’t change anything.”

She stood there, like she was waiting for him to turn. But he didn’t. He didn’t trust himself to look at her. Finally she sighed and headed back to the squad room.

Stan didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until he let out a long sigh and turned his full attention back to the microphone. Or at least most of his attention. There was that little corner of his mind that wondered why Gina kept trying to make excuses for Crockett. And why she thought she needed to make them to him.

Almost an hour later he pushed back from the bench with a smile on his face. Everything checked out. The damned mic should be ready to go, and it would function perfectly even if Sonny Crockett managed to step on it. A quick look at the wall clock told him it was after five. Most of the unit would have gone home by now, and it was time he did the same. Or at least got out of OCB.

Mickey’s wasn’t a place tourists would look at twice, but it had been one of the spots Stan and Larry went to when they needed to unwind after work. The TVs were mostly on sports, with one given over to boxing any time a bout was on, cigars were for sale behind the bar, and the drinks were cheap. Something about it reminded Stan of the places his cab-driver father would take him on nights when he wasn’t giving his son crap for being a fat loser. He’d sit with a Coke while the old man placed bets on the bouts and talked with the bartenders about who was a contender and who was going to take a dive. Larry had been a boxing fan, and the sweet science had been their first bonding point when they both joined Vice.

Andy behind the bar grinned. “Evening Stan. The usual?”

“Yeah. Bud and a chaser. Make it whiskey.” Stan settled into his usual stool just to the right of the cash register. What had been a weekly trip with Larry had become nightly. A couple of drinks and some talk to calm his nerves before heading back to his simple walk-up in one of the cookie cutter apartment complexes springing up around town. Since Larry was murdered he’d started to understand a bit about why his father had a similar routine.

“Here ya go.” Andy set the bottle and shot glass down with a lopsided grin. “What are we drinkin’ to tonight?”

“Hell, I don’t know. Maybe because it’s a day that ends in Y.” Stan knocked back the shot, feeling the sharp whiskey bite, and chased it with a deep slip of Budweiser.

“Ha. A day that ends in Y. I like that. You ready for another shot?”

“Naw. Let me finish the beer first.” He nodded toward the TV. “Who do you like in this one?”

“Kid in the red trunks. He ain’t much t’ look at, but he’s got heart and good footwork. The one in purple? He’s slow. Tires out quick.”

“But if he connects the kid goes down.” Stan chuckled. “Tell you what. I’ll bet you a shot the big guy wins.”

Andy nodded. “You’re on. Hell, why not? It’s a slow night.”

Stan looked around and nodded himself. The place was damned near empty. Just the usual regulars toward the back watching what looked like baseball on one of the smaller TVs. “I don’t know how you stay open, Andy.”

“Aw, you know. We get by. Ain’t gonna retire on it, but ain’t goin’ to the poorhouse either.” He turned to look at the TV and grinned. “Looks like your boy’s suckin’ wind.”

“What? Ah, shit. You big dope! Breathe!” Stan took another drink of his beer and winced as the kid in red landed a solid midsection blow. “I can’t look!” He raised his hands, but peeked through his fingers just in time to see the bigger fighter double over and go down.

“Looks like you owe me a shot, Stan.”

“Who’s next on the card? How about double or nothing there?”

It was close to midnight when Stan finally staggered out of Mickey’s. Two drinks had stretched out to around ten, although in the end he’d only paid for about half of them. Once he got in the flow calling the fights got easier and easier. Or maybe Andy was paying less attention. Either way it had been one of his better nights since the funeral.

Light from the parking lot fixtures streamed through the front window as he opened the door of his apartment. He walked past the framed Elvis pictures on the wall, stopping for a moment to grin at the one of the King in his black leather jacket. “Thank you, thank you very much,” he muttered, remembering how that always got a chuckle from Larry no matter how bad the day had been. Then he pulled the curtains closed and turned on a small light by the couch. The burger he’d bough on the way home disappeared in four bites, and he sat staring at the blank screen of the TV. The booze was starting to wear off, and he could feel a wave of sadness washing over him. Forcing himself to his feet he headed for the bedroom. His neck was still sore from falling asleep on the couch two nights in a row, and he didn’t feel like going for a third.

The briefing room was full and overheated as usual. Stan sat in his new normal spot, nursing a cup of Gorman’s shitty coffee and vowing for the twentieth time to get in early enough to make the coffee himself. Crockett and Tubbs had their heads together at the top of the table, and Gina and Trudy both looked tired after a late night on some case or another. Although Trudy still found the energy to smile when she caught his eye. Stan smiled back. At least she’s trying. Not pretending nothing’s wrong.

Castillo took his seat at the head of the table, his black suit looking almost as rumpled as Stan’s Hawaiian shirt. “Report.” His voice was dry, and Stan guessed he’d slept in his office again.

Tubbs looked at Crockett, who just nodded. “We got a call last night from Ernesto. He still wants to deal. The meet’s on for tonight.”

Stan checked out as they went over the location. It would be some flashy club where background noise played hell with his tapes, and he’d be out in the van trying to take pictures in any case. Just tell me where to park and I’ll show up. He was running through a list of the equipment he’d need in his head when Castillo’s voice switched to him. “Is the equipment ready?”

“You bet, lieutenant. Finished it last night before I left. All I need to know is where they wanna wear it.”

Crockett snorted. “Is it smaller than a breadbox?”

“I can fit it into one of the buttons on Rico’s suit.” Stan bit back any number of retorts running through his mind. “The transmitter’s a bit bigger, but still smaller than a pack of smokes.”

Rico nodded. “Solid. I’ll stop by the lab for a fitting.”

“We’ll be using the other van. The Bug Van would stand out too much in this neighborhood. Will you need to move any equipment?”

“I’ll have to see what those clowns left in the van, lieutenant. Dibble likes to pull everything out when he’s done.”

“Lester had it last.”

“Then it should be fine, but I’ll check just to make sure. Lester’s a sharp cat. He might have even improved some stuff in that old rig.”

Crockett’s voice had a bored edge to it. “Just be ready to roll by 1900.”

“Trudy, Gina. I want you in the club before the meet. Another set of eyes can’t hurt, especially if it turns into a rip of some kind.”

Trudy nodded. “You got it, lieutenant. Working girls or classy ladies out on the town?”

Castillo actually smiled. “The latter. You’ll need to blend in.”

Stan forced himself to focus. The dull pain behind his eyes was back. Not a hangover! You gotta be kidding me! “Will they need any gear?”

“No. They won’t be close enough for microphones to work. And we don’t need to complicate the picture with another set of frequencies.”

“That would have been my advice. There’s gonna be enough background noise as it is. Don’t need to complicate it any more than we have to.”

Stan didn’t pay much attention to the rest of the briefing, and once Castillo let them go he took Tubbs over to the work room to get him fitted with the new wire. Rico shrugged off his seized Armani suit coat and watched with a smile as Stan started replacing one of the three buttons and running thread-thin wire from it to the slim transmitter he slipped into the inside pocket. “It’s thinner than your wallet, so it won’t ruin the lines of the coat. But it’s also got enough juice to get the signal over half a mile, which is what we need for this meet,” he explained as he went to work with a needle and thread to close up the seam he’d opened to run the wire.

“That’s pretty damned slick, Stan. Is it standard issue?”

“Naw. Just something I cooked up for this op. Might keep it around depending on how well it works in the field. It’s been tested, but…”

“Nothing’s a guarantee. I get it, man. No silver bullets.”

He handed the jacket back. “Test the fit. I can move the transmitter if it prints.”

Rico pulled on the jacket and buttoned it normally. Then he did a turn or two, checking it in the work room’s full-length mirror. “Can’t see a damned thing, and this is bright light. What if they pat me down?”

“It’s slim enough they shouldn’t notice. And it’s also flexible, so it’ll feel like a wallet and not like a transmitter. That and they usually pat down back and sides, not the front of a coat. That’s why I put it where I did. Right where they’d expect to feel a gentleman’s wallet. Especially a fat cat down from New York City.”

Tubbs chuckled again. “Sounds like you got it down, man. Those chumps shouldn’t notice a damned thing. Besides, Ernesto don’t have me patted down. It’s Sonny they always check.”

Nodding, Stan turned back to the workbench. “Go ahead and hit the button on the top of the transmitter.” He waited until Tubbs turned the unit on. “Looks good. Shut her down. You got about three hours worth of battery in that baby, so I’d leave it off until just before you go in. We’ll do a comm check as usual just to make sure everything’s good.”

“Nice work, Stan. Now I gotta go link up with Sonny and get our game plan down.”

Once Tubbs was gone, Stan looked back at the receiver for the small bug and sighed. He still needed to tie it into the tape machine in the backup van, check the cameras, make sure there was night vision gear just in case, and a hundred other small things. Stuff he used to do with Larry. The routine checks just made him miss his friend even more, and had been what got him bringing the pint whiskey bottle to work.

“Nice work with that bug, Stan.” Trudy’s voice filled the empty air in the room.

“Oh, didn’t hear you come in. Thanks. If it works good for this operation I might make a couple more.”

She nodded, walking over to the work table. “How are you holding up, Stan? I mean really.”

“One day at a time.” The revelation shocked him. “Sorry…that sounds…”

“It’s ok. I don’t advertise it, but my brother was murdered when I was a kid. I get how hard it is to lose someone you’re close to.” She paused. “I just wanted you to know someone on the team gets what you’re going through.”

“Thanks.” He wanted to say more but just couldn’t find the words.

She smiled. “I didn’t want to talk to anyone, either. It’s ok. When you’re read let me know.”

“Thanks, Trudy. I mean it.” He looked down at the mess of wires and small screws on the table top. “I don’t want to be an ass, but I just don’t know what to say yet.”

“I gotta get ready for the operation.” She chuckled. “Picking out clothes is harder than you boys think.” She paused, her eyes searching. “We’ll get through it, Stan.”

He held it together until she was gone, and then buried his head in his hands. “Will we? Shit, I wish I knew for sure.”

 

The backup van didn’t have the same homey feel as the Bug Van, but in some ways that was good. Fewer memories of Larry lurked in the cloth upholstery or dark corners of the cargo compartment. It was more neutral, letting Stan focus on the operation. Today instead of yesterday.

He was in the back with his headphones on, shifting dials a hair to cut static on the line and bring the conversation into better focus. The wire was working just like he’d planned, capturing every word at the table along with every clink of a glass or crunch as someone chewed ice from his drink. It was so clear if he closed his eyes he could see the Hardy Boys grinning at each other as they reeled the Columbian in.

The reels turned slowly, the recording heads working their magnetic magic transferring the signals to tape. There was something soothing about the whole process, something that called to Stan each time he settled in behind the console to run another wiretap or surveillance operation. He’d found his niche right after coming off uniform patrol, and his enthusiasm had brought Larry Zito along for the ride. They were both burned out on patrol in any case, and the purity of the tapes appealed to them both.

He tuned back into the conversation when they started talking weight and price. That’s what the DA would need, and what he wanted to capture as clear as possible. Another slight twist and the last bit of static cleared away as if by magic. “No way they can complain about that,” he muttered. “Just like you’re sittin’ at the same table.”

Ten minutes later it was over, the drinks gone and handshakes outside the club captured by his snapping camera. Stan gave them a few minutes to get clear, then fired up the van and eased it out of the parking lot across from the club. Just another working stiff heading home after a long day checking wiring or whatever the van looked like it had been doing. The kind of thing that disappeared into the background. Just like Stan most days.

OCB was almost deserted when he stopped in to log in the tapes and film. A dim light shone from Castillo’s office, but he didn’t head that way. He had no need to bother the lieutenant, and soon enough Crockett or Tubbs, or both, would be coming in to crow about the operation. No, he just wanted to take care of business and leave.

The property clerk barely looked up, just took the reels and rolls of film with a nod and wrote them up in his book. “Standard drill?”

“Yeah. Just want the chain of custody to be solid for the trial.”

“Got ya. Damned DA can’t lose another one because of sloppy paperwork.”

“You got that right, man. Have a good one.”

 

Mickey’s was almost empty again, but this time it was college football on the TV over the bar. Andy didn’t even ask, just opened a beer and poured the shot chaser. “Long day at the office?”

“Yeah. Can’t complain about the overtime, though.” Stan parked on his usual stool and jerked his head toward the TV. “Miami playing again?”

“Yeah.” Andy looked around. “There’s a little action on it if you’re interested.”

Stan was about to shake his head, but then grinned. “Hell, why not? I’ve got twenty on Miami by ten.” His mind flashed back to those days his father had taken him to bars like this and placed his own bets. They’d sit and yell at the TV together, and if he won the old man would buy him ice cream on the way home.

Andy walked down the bar to check on two older guys by the bathroom door, then came back. “Florida State’s on the other TV. Any interest in that one?”

“Naw. I’ll stick with the Canes for now.” Stan knocked back his whiskey and let the cool beer chase the warm liquor down his throat. “Larry never bet on football.”

“Who? Oh, yeah. Your buddy.”

“Yeah. He never bet on football. Never bet on things with four legs or more than two guys goin’ after each other was what he said.” He raised his beer. “Here’s one for you, Lar!”

Miami ended up losing, and Stan coughed up his twenty with a laugh. “Guess he was right. Aw, well. When it works, it works damned well.” He looked down the bar. “How did Florida State do?”

“Won by fifteen.”

“Figures, right?” He looked at the line of empty shot glasses. “Guess I’d best be hitting the road. Work tomorrow and all that.”

 

He was back the next night, parked on his stool after a day spent cleaning up the recordings and developing film, watching the Hardy Boys go through it looking for their best profile shots. Once or twice he’d thought about talking to Trudy, but each time he decided he just didn’t know what to say. At least at Mickey’s there wasn’t much talking.

Andy had the beer and shot ready as always, wiping down a spot on the bar with a rag that might have been clean in the Seventies. “You up for some action tonight, Stan?”

“Why the hell not? Who’s on tap?”

“Alabama. And I think Clemson for the late game.”

“Put twenty on each. Hell, they can’t both lose.”

“And the spread?”

“Six on Bama, four on the Tigers.” He looked down the bar. “Looks busier than usual.”

“Just some tourists. Nothin’ fancy.” Andy picked up Stan’s money and grinned. “I’ll go check on ‘em and be back with another shot.”

“You know me too damend well, Andy.” Stan grinned, knowing he should slow down but just not feeling it yet. The liquor numbed things just enough.

He watched the game on the flickering screen for a time, not really following the progress all that much. “You need to fix that damned set if you’re gonna be taking action,” he said when Andy stopped in front of him for a moment. The guys down the bar were keeping him busy, and they hadn’t been able to talk like normal.

“Yeah, but it ain’t easy when you’re splicing into the cable next door.” Andy chuckled and opened another Budweiser. “And good reception ain’t gonna change the fact that Clemson’s down by three. Bama pulled it out, though, so you’ll at least break even.”

Stan raised the fresh bottle. “Here’s to the damned Crimson Tide or whatever they call themselves.”

“Yeah.” Andy looked down the bar and lowered his voice. “Look, man, I know you ain’t into mixin’ business with off duty time, but I gotta ask. I’m lookin’ to hire a girl to work some nights, and I want to make sure she ain’t got a record.”

Stan shook his head. “I don’t know…”

“Maybe just run her plate? See if there’s anything bad. I don’t think she’s a mass murderer or anything, but if she’s got sticky fingers I don’t want her near the register.”

Cops do it all the time. Hell, I know Crockett runs every damned girl he dates. So does Tubbs. “I’ll look into it, man. You got her plate number?”

Andy winked. “That an’ her address. Just wanna make sure she gave the right info on the application.”

“Might take a day or two.”

“No problem. It’s just a favor.”

Stan folded the piece of paper and stuck it in his wallet. The beer was still tasting good and the game was winding down. He’d have maybe one more and head home. He didn’t pay any attention to Andy wandering down the bar to the two men standing where it was darkest. Hell, it’s no big thing. Like he said, just a favor.

Just great, Thankyou.

 

 

[Robbie C.]

2 hours ago, mjcmmv said:

It's good to see some follow-up to what Stan was going through after Larry was killed. He was resentful and depressed and in this story, he seems to be unraveling right before your eyes. 

You're right when you say the show didn't do enough on this topic. Thanks for filling in the gaps with another good one!.  

 

Glad you liked it! For context, this one takes place maybe a month or so after Down For The Count 2, which is where Stan's stuff should have been shown. Not all the way out in season 5 when they suddenly remembered they had a character named Switek. And Stan's coopting by the bad guys would likely have started this way, too....with "just a favor." Small at first, then bigger. Especially once they had the gambling hooks in him, too.

I may do either a Tubbs during the Burnett period story next, or one that's Vice but pre-Tubbs. Something with Lou and Eddie and Sonny's marriage swirling down the drain. I don't know yet. Depends on other projects.

[vicegirl85]

7 hours ago, mjcmmv said:

It's good to see some follow-up to what Stan was going through after Larry was killed. He was resentful and depressed and in this story, he seems to be unraveling right before your eyes. 

You're right when you say the show didn't do enough on this topic. Thanks for filling in the gaps with another good one!.  

Amen to everything she said!

[Robbie C.]

On 3/22/2020 at 1:55 PM, vicegirl85 said:

Amen to everything she said!

Thanks! Hope you're enjoying the latest ones.

[sdiegolo78]

Liked it! I had some flashbacks of season 3 while reading it. Did that girl turn out to be 'clean'?

[sdiegolo78]

On 3/22/2020 at 2:15 PM, Robbie C. said:

a Tubbs during the Burnett period story

That'd be awesome!

[sdiegolo78]

Sorry about the spam, didn't realize it's been on there already...'Flying solo'?!

[Robbie C.]

7 minutes ago, sdiegolo78 said:

Sorry about the spam, didn't realize it's been on there already...'Flying solo'?!

Yep. That's the one. They aren't listed in the reading guide in the order they were written, but more in chronological order based on the series.