CHAPTER TWELVE

 

 

Since Nathan was out of town, his twin Alec wasn’t anywhere to be found, and the European brawler was a mystery, Micah focused his attention on the other people Daisy allegedly had seen the night of the money-counting: cops. She hadn’t been able to name any of them, only given a description of the one who she claimed was a Boulder County officer. Chubby, light brown hair, furry mustache.

He didn’t know why, but accepting this last part of her story had been a challenge. One thing Micah had never found in his research on Nathan and Alec Auerbach was a connection with any police officers. No social media, no financial links. As much as Micah wanted to believe in Daisy’s version of the events, he’d always had a sliver of doubt about that part.

So he needed a closer look at this Boulder cop.

Not that Micah had a good history with the police. Going on an in-person mission wasn’t the smartest thing he could do with his time. But he was out of leads, so he had to try something. Stomp the ground and see what snakes came out of the holes.

He stood in his condo building’s elevator, debating whether to press G for the garage to get his car, or 2 to visit Daisy before leaving. Part of him wanted to talk to her, to be convinced that putting himself in danger was worth it.

With a sigh, he opted for the garage. He didn’t know what Daisy could tell him to make him feel assured. This whole investigation was strange and confusing, with too many strands that led nowhere. And Micah would see her later tonight, anyway, at her coffee shop gig. At least, by then he would know if she’d been correct about the police being involved.

He drove up to Boulder and navigated around the CU campus to The Hill. This part of Boulder was comprised of shabby yet overpriced student housing and endless rows of frat houses, sub shops, and janky bars.

He parked near the police station and stood beside his car for a moment. A gaggle of sorority girls strolled along the sidewalk as he crossed the street. One of them—the obviously bold one in the group—stuck two fingers in her mouth to give him a suggestive cat-call whistle. The other girls giggled, and Micah raised a bashful hand in acknowledgment. The bold one made some kissy faces and was about to say something when her friends dragged her away, around the corner at the end of the block.

It’s not every day a group of nubile young coeds shouts at you like construction workers do, but Micah wasn’t in the right state of mind to feel flattered.

Instead, he endured a sting of panic as his hand reached out to grip the handle and open the glass door. He’d hated dealing with these people, even before his poor experience with the handlers from WitSec. He’d been arrested and assaulted by police officers, singled out—sometimes fairly and sometimes unfairly. Too many of them got off on the power trip of authority.

But he needed to do this. To finally believe Daisy’s story. Or, if Daisy had been wrong about the cops, then having the law on his side could be the best option to figuring out how Nathan had limitless money.

Micah took a breath and opened the door.

Inside, he was at first startled by how clean and modern the building was. But, of course, he remembered he was in Boulder, that bastion of tech startups and opulent hillside houses and decided it was entirely normal that the police department wouldn’t be a decaying relic like most.

There were comfortable waiting chairs in the lobby and a clean counter. Curved television screens hanging on the walls, showing various news channels.

Behind the counter sat a bony woman who smiled at him as he entered. “Can I help you?”

The smile jarred him. Micah was used to treating law enforcement as adversaries. Everyone except for Frank, and he didn’t count, because the old man was retired.

“I need to speak with a detective,” Micah said.

The woman tilted her head down, peering at him over her glasses. “Regarding?”

He had to make a split-second decision. Report the domestic abuse Daisy had experienced at Nathan’s hand, which probably wouldn’t go anywhere if she refused to press charges? No, keeping Daisy’s name out of it would be the wiser choice. On the other hand, he could report the possible cop corruption angle, which was impossible to prove.

Micah chose neither. He’d stick with the money.

“I believe a crime has taken place. Something that needs to be investigated.”

The woman waved him forward and she poised her hands above the keyboard. “And your name, sir?”

He hesitated. The idea that they might enter his name in some database hadn’t occurred to him. He could give a fake one, but what if she asked for his ID? Like an idiot, he’d left his wallet in his back pocket. Could they press charges if he falsified his name?

“Micah Reed,” he said, and she typed it without breaking his gaze.

Damn, he felt like such a chump.

“Okay, Mr. Reed, can you give me details about this crime?”

“Thank you, but I’d rather talk to a detective.”

She soured but nodded anyway. Pressed a hidden button somewhere and the door next to her counter buzzed. “Step inside, and park yourself on the benches to the right. Someone will be along to speak with you shortly.”

He thanked her and entered the door into the innards of the police station. This room was a little more like what he was accustomed to seeing. Uniformed cops walking around, their waists lined with attachments and gadgets like Batman’s belt. Mugs of coffee gripped in eager hands. Desks with in and out trays, even though each desk had a laptop.

He slid onto the bench near the door and watched the activity for a moment. Seeing those uniforms sped his heart. He couldn’t help but think back to the night in Stillwater, right before the feds had first contacted him. The cop harassing him, attacking him, his fingers around Micah’s throat. Micah defending himself, which resulted in the cop’s death.

And Micah thinking his life was over. In a way, he’d been right.

Among the cops sitting at desks and walking about the room, he didn’t see anyone who matched the description Daisy had provided: chubby, light brown hair, furry mustache.

In another minute, a man wearing suspenders with a gun in an armpit holster approached Micah, a little pad of paper in his hand. “Afternoon, Mr. Reed. They said you want to talk to me.”

“I want to report a crime.”

The detective didn’t sit on the bench with him or invite Micah to come back to some office. He stood there, scribbling on his pad. “Uh-huh. I’m gonna need you to be more specific.”

Micah sneered at the detective’s sarcasm. “There’s a woman who lives in my building. She saw someone counting a large amount of money, and I think it’s drug related. A large amount of money. The man’s name is Nathan Auerbach.”

At the mention of Nathan’s name, the detective’s eyes shot up from the pad at Micah. They shared a look and the man’s eyes narrowed. It lasted less than a half a second, and then the detective resumed his writing, but it was enough to spook Micah. Make his skin tingle.

“And the woman’s name?”

“Her name isn’t important. She’s a friend of mine, that’s all.”

The detective stopped writing, then he slipped his little notepad into his shirt pocket. “Okay, Mr. Reed, wait here, please. I’ll be back in a minute to gather some more details.”

The detective left, and Micah got the sense this was all going to end badly. He looked back at the door he’d entered through, wondered if he would be able to open it from the inside. He decided that if someone came through it now, he would bolt from his seat and scurry out before it had a chance to close. He was less than ten feet away. He could make it.

But as much as he wanted to leave, he knew he had to stay and see this through. He’d lit the fuse, now he had to find out what color the explosion would be. Maybe that was insane, sitting in a police station, unarmed, around a couple dozen men with firearms attached to them like limbs.

A moment later, Micah glanced up to find the suspenders-wearing detective whispering to a uniform cop, and they both turned their heads to watch Micah.

His hand explored around for the nub that Boba Fett’s head made in his jeans. His heart raced. Had to will his legs to keep him on the bench, while his brain kept shouting leave leave leave.

And even though he hadn’t seen the cop Daisy had described, Micah felt like he had enough information to convince himself that she had actually seen what she’d claimed. He didn’t want to be here any longer.

The detective approached him. “Mr. Reed, I think we can help you. If you’ll come with me.”

“I’ve changed my mind. I made a mistake, and I’m going to go.”

The detective bit his lower lip. “I understand, sir. Whatever you want.”

Micah turned toward the door back to the lobby, but the detective whistled. “Mr. Reed, you can’t get out that way. Please, follow me. I’ll show you the way out.”

Micah held his hands behind his back and flexed his wrists, readying himself to fight. The last thing in the world he wanted was to get into a brawl inside the Boulder police department, but this day seemed headed in that direction. The firecracker’s fuse had grown shorter.

Suspenders walked down a long hall, and Micah couldn’t help but notice the looks some of the cops shot at him. Could they smell a former criminal? Did he have that look about him? Maybe they saw the fading black eye and assumed he was a thug.

An exit sign hung above a door at the end of the hallway. Micah started to think maybe he wasn’t going to have to punch his way out here. But he realized that if they were going to rough him up, they would naturally do it outside.

So he ventured toward the door, saying nothing to Suspenders, and readied himself for a fight as soon as he stepped outside. He opened it and walked into an alley. The back of a row of sandwich shops to his right, exit to the parking lot on his left. But no one throwing a bag over his head or jabbing a stun gun at his side.

“Micah Reed,” said a voice behind him.

Micah spun to find a uniform cop, chubby, with a perfectly-groomed cop mustache. Like a furry slug sitting on this guy’s upper lip.

The cop had been leaning against the building, and he took a step forward, within striking distance of Micah. He had a gun and a taser and handcuffs on his belt, but they were all nestled in their holsters. The cop’s hands were empty.

“What?” Micah said.

“Nathan Auerbach. You were asking about him.”

“Was I?”

The cop grinned. “Mr. Auerbach is one of the top financial supporters of see-fop in Colorado. Did you know that?”

For a second, Micah was completely baffled at what the hell a see-fop was. Then, he realized it must have been CFOP, the Colorado Fraternal Order of Police. Micah hadn’t found any kind of charitable contributions like this in Nathan’s public records.

“I did not know that. But I don’t see what it has to do with me.”

The cop stepped closer, opening his mouth in a sneer. The slug of a mustache curved up with the man’s lips. “It means you need to mind your own damn business.”

The cop was close enough that Micah could grab his choice of weapons off the guy’s belt. He could whip out that taser, drive it into the guy’s gut, and put him on the ground before he ever knew what hit him. But Micah stood firm, with his hands on his hips.

Still Micah didn’t feel obligated to give this cop any respect. “That’s not a nice thing to say.”

“Go home, unless you and Daisy want to end up in the trunk of someone’s car.”

Micah hadn’t said Daisy’s name in the police station. But, since the guy knew it, that meant he had to have been one of the cops Daisy had seen with Nathan, counting the money.

Daisy had been right, and telling the truth. Micah had no doubts anymore.

Micah and the cop both stood silent for a moment. Chests pointed at each other like growling dogs.

Micah glanced down at the cop’s badge and noted his number. 402. Waited to see if the cop was going to throw a punch, but he only stood there. Maybe he was waiting for Micah to make the first move so he could put him in handcuffs.

“Anything else you want to say?” Micah said.

The cop sucked through his teeth, then shook his head once to the left. Maintained that steely gaze.

Then, Micah stepped back, lifted his palms in a show of surrender, and rounded the front of the building. He craned his neck to see if the cop was going to follow him.

Mustache cop stayed behind, probably content with the assumption that he’d scared Micah straight. But Micah now had confirmation that not only was Daisy telling the truth about what she’d seen, but it went way deeper than some guy selling drugs.

And Micah could no longer turn back.