Francis Poncharello strode down the hallway of CHP Central with his hands clenched into fists and his eyes flashing. Officer Baricza stepped quickly out of his way, the half-formed greeting on his lips, and stared after him as he marched into the sergeant's office where Joe Getraer sat at his desk. Sergeant Getraer sighed and eyed up his friend taking note of the tensed body and clenched jaw. Ponch's eyes snapped with fury, every line of the athletic body screamed the anger that was in him and directed at the man in front of him. The two men stared at each other for several minutes, unmoving.
Getraer was the first to break the silence. "I had no choice, Frank." His voice was soft and pleading. "Try to understand. It's my job." He slumped back into the chair and rubbed his forehead with his hand as though trying to wipe away the headache that was centered there. "He didn't help himself. He REFUSED to help himself, " he said tiredly. "I gave him every opportunity to give me an edge I could use. An explanation. A reason. Hell, I'd have settled for a hint of a reason. If it had been in-house, I would have had some latitude. For crying out loud, the Feds were in on it. They want to know why one of my officers was there, smack in the middle of their stakeout, apparently doing business with one of THEIR suspects. Do you have any idea what kind of bind this puts me in?"
"I know what kind of a bind that puts my partner in, " Ponch replied in a tightly controlled voice. "Indefinite suspension pending an investigation into criminal activities. That's what YOU wrote, Joe. That's what you said about a man who has saved your life, backed you up, covered for you, saved your eyesight, even babysat your kids. Now, I want you to look me in the eye and tell ME that you believe Jon Baker is doing anything criminal. I want YOU to tell ME that YOU believe that he should be fired. I want you to take a good long look at his record and his commendations and his citations and tell me that this man is not worth sticking your neck out for. Don't you DARE tell me that you're only doing your job. Since when do we not back up family. If he's not talking, he has a reason. YOU KNOW THAT."
Joe Getraer stood up slowly and turned away from intensity of the man in front of him. He rubbed the back of his neck and stretched his back muscles before replying. "I know that Jon is in trouble. But dammit Frank, you know how he is. He always plays things so close to the chest. Once he decides he's not talking, you'd have an easier conversation with Mount Rushmore."
Ponch relaxed slightly and shifted his weight. "Ok, what do the Feds have? It can't be much or the hammer would have fallen by now." He turned and looked expectantly at Joe. "C'mon, Joe, it's me. You know I'll find out one way or the other."
Getraer walked towards the door and purposefully shut it before returning to his desk. He leaned forward and spoke quietly. "Jon went to the apartment of a prostitute by the name of Sally Furman, not her real name. The Feds have been keeping it under surveillance for the past several weeks because one of her customers is a big player in the local protection racket. Jon spent the night there. The whole night, if you believe that. In the morning, he kissed her goodbye and gave her a nice little packet of change. They have the exchange of money on tape and from the looks of it, it was a lot more than Sally would have charged for an evening of fun and games. She gave Jon a small envelope before he left. The Feds think that she's the go-between for Jon and her customer."
Ponch stared at his sergeant with his mouth slightly open. "If Jon was on the take, he would be receiving money, not giving it. Or didn't that occur to the supercops? As for him spending the night, that's a crock. Jon would never pay a pro for that."
"And that," Joe sat back in his chair, "is why he's on suspension and not fired. They can't figure out what he was doing exactly and until they do, they can't charge him with anything more than consorting with a prostitute. Unfortunately, even that, if proven, could get him fired."
"What did he say when you hit him with all this?" Ponch had turned thoughtful.
"He told me that what he did on his own time was HIS business and that the department couldn't tell him who he could be friends with. He also told me that the department couldn't tell him what to spend his money on, and if the Feds were so sure that he was dirty, they could come and get him personally."
"Are you telling me that he told you that he was paying a prostitute for sex?"
"No," Joe drawled out the word. "I'm telling you that he implied that he was paying a prostitute for sex."
"That's a crock." Ponch began to pace evenly in front of the desk. "Why is he taking this on the chin? He'd never do that unless he was protecting someone."
"That's what I came up with," Joe agreed. "He obviously thinks that whoever he's protecting is worth his career. I just can't figure out who. Who would mean that much to him?"
"A fellow officer, a close friend, someone he served with, family," Ponch offered thoughtfully.
"Yea," Joe agreed. "Now out of the dozens of people that are covered by those criteria, which one is it?"
Ponch stopped pacing and sighed. "How much vacation time do I have left?"
"That depends. Are you planning to interfere in a federal investigation?" Joe asked sternly.
"You bet your sweet bippy, I am," Ponch nodded firmly. "I intend to be a real pain in the ass until I find out what's going on. Even if that means taking on Jon Baker."
"In that case," Joe smiled, "take all the time you need."
Ponch flashed his customary toothy grin and left the office. Joe sat back and looked at the ceiling feeling better than he had all day. Whatever was coming down, Jon wasn't going to be alone.
Jon Baker left the fifth bar of the day feeling like he was at loose ends. "And why not," he thought, " I only got suspended from my job, threatened by a federal investigation, and had a major problem dropped in my lap." Working as a motor officer for the CHP maybe wasn't the easiest job in the world, but this investigative stuff was for the birds. Yet, what choice did he have. He thought of Sara and the hope that he had seen in her eyes when she had recognized him. "Oh God, Sara," Jon thought. "How did you get here? Better yet, how do I get you out?" He stopped walking when he realized that he didn't know where he was going. Five bars and he still hadn't had a nibble on the feelers that he was putting out. If he couldn't find something to give those investigators within a few days, he and Sara both would be up the proverbial creek.
He sighed and turned to walk back to his truck to go home. Maybe after he put the situation out on the table and gave it a good look, he'd find a solution. Lord, he HAD to find a solution. He thought again of calling Ponch, but discarded the idea. It was bad enough that he was in this. He could still hear his father's voice when he had called him to tell him about Sara. He had sounded so strained, so old, and so shaken. "Bring her home, Jonny. Bring her home safe." It had taken Jon the entire night to get Sara to agree to think about going home. He'd given her as much money as he could to keep her from working until she thought about what he'd said. Home. That word held a lot of appeal right now for him as well. Things always had a way of seeming a little less complicated when you were in Wyoming.
The blow to his back knocked the wind from him and sent him to his knees gasping. He dropped and rolled away as the baseball bat came down for a second strike making a sharp crack as it impacted with the pavement. Unfamiliar hands dragged him to his feet only to send him back to the pavement with a blow to the jaw. He evaded them a second time and struggled to regain his footing whiling ducking another swing from the baseball bat. His fist connected in a solid punch to the midsection of the man who had hit him as he swung his right foot out behind him to catch the first man with a blow to the knee. He ducked the punch of the second man but lost his balance as the first man threw the bat and hit him behind the head. Dropping to his knees dazed, his world exploded in pain as his two assailants went to work with a vengeance. The blows fell almost rhythmically as the two men alternated in pummeling him as he slowly lost consciousness.
It was several hours later that he woke up in the dumpster behind the bar. Every nerve in his body screamed with agony as he pulled himself out of the garbage and staggered towards his truck. He opened the door and pulled himself painfully inside, instinctively reaching for the CB. He groaned softly as the mike pulled completely away from the destroyed unit. Somehow, the radio reminded him of just how cut off he was from everyone and everything that he had come to count on. He rested his head on the steering wheel for several minutes until his head cleared to the point where he could attempt the trip home. Wiping the congealed blood from his face, he tried to focus his swollen eye before accepting the fact that he was going to have to drive with one good eye and very little depth perception. "A fitting end to this day," he thought as he turned the ignition. Thankfully, the truck sprang to life without complaint, and he headed home.
Ponch left the breath out of his lungs slowly and ran his hand through his dark hair. Frustrated and antsy he sat in his car outside of Jon's apartment building and waited for some sign of the familiar truck. He had spent most of the day alternating between calling the apartment and visiting everywhere that he felt Jon might go to cool off. For one of the few times in the last several years, he had no idea what his friend was thinking. His fingers drummed the steering wheel in an ever-increasing tempo as his mood darkened further. He rested his head against the back of the seat, closed his eyes and made a list of all the curse words he knew in English and Spanish. He was beginning to run out of ideas when he heard a motor and opened his eyes to see Jon's blue truck easing into the parking area. The truck moved slowly and it took several attempts for the driver to park the vehicle in its space at an angle. Several minutes passed and no one opened the door to get out. Ponch opened his own door and stepped out of his thunderbird. He stood by the car for a moment, staring at the truck with a puzzled expression. "Something's not right," he murmured under his breath. He cautiously approached the truck, keeping close to the side panel. "Jon?" he called softly. He banged the door lightly with his hand. "Jon!" Truly concerned, he stepped up purposefully and yanked the door open with a quick jerk just to see his friend slide from the cab unconscious. Ponch stared in horror at the bruised and swollen face of his friend. "Oh God, partner. What the hell are you into?" He quickly checked his friend for broken bones taking note of the contusions that extended under the clothing. The large lump on the head explained a great deal more than was needed. "Good lord, what did they use? A piece of pipe?"
Ponch swung his friend up onto his broad shoulders in a fireman's carry. He gently balanced the weight on his back and headed towards the apartment building.
Half an hour later, he sat on the edge of the bed looking at his friend with concern and anger. He had opened Jon's shirt and found bruising that indicated a large blunt object had been used freely to mark up the body. The job was very professionally done. It was meant to be painful but not permanently injurious. Only the head wound showed that someone had gotten a bit too zealous in the application of the beating. Probably due to Jon's less than accepting behavior as to being beaten. Ponch smiled ruefully. His partner could be a bit of a handful under those circumstances. Jon groaned lightly and grimaced as he tried to open his eyes.
Ponch gently held him on the bed. "It's ok. You're ok. You're with me." He kept talking smoothly and gently until Jon stopped his weak struggling as he recognized the voice.
"Ponch?" he whispered through cracked lips. "How . . .," his voice faded.
"You made it home before passing out. I just brought you up to the apartment." Ponch was relieved to hear his friend talking. "Are you going to let me in on this now?"
Jon began to shake his head but stopped when the waves of pain the action caused shot through his system. "I don't want you involved," his voice sank softly.
Ponch laughed mirthlessly. "I've been involved for the last 5 years, partner. Now's a fine time to tell me I'm not wanted."
Jon reached for his friend with one hand. "I want you. I just don't want to take you down with me."
"Too late, Jon," Ponch made his voice sound light, "I already told Getraer that I'm with you one way or another."
Jon's body shook uncertainly with what Ponch took as painful laughter. "I'll bet he loved that."
"Rest up, Jon. Tomorrow we'll sort it all out. Tonight, I want to be sure that the lump on your head didn't actually damage that thick skull. I'll be waking you up every now and then, ok?"
Jon nodded carefully and dropped his hand from Ponch's arm. "I'm not even going to fight you on it. I should, but I won't. I need the help."
"You're telling me," Ponch agreed quietly. "You're a mess."
Jon left his head sink into the pillow and smiled as he went to sleep.
Ponch watched him for almost an hour. He occasionally checked his pulse and respiration and monitored the bruising for signs of additional swelling. Finally satisfied, he left the bedroom and went to the kitchen to find some food.
He was in the middle of preparing an omelet when he heard a knock on the door. He stepped over to the door handle and used the peephole. A blonde girl stood outside the door with her hands shoved into the back pockets of her jeans. He opened the door, "Can I help you?"
The girl looked at him wide-eyed and confused. "I'm . . . sorry. I. . must have the wrong apartment, " she stammered uncertainly.
Ponch relaxed and let one of his warm smiles split his face. "You looking for Jon?"
The girl smiled in response and nodded her head vigorously. "Yea. Are you his roommate?"
Ponch laughed at the mental picture of he and Jon living in the same apartment. "No, I'm his partner. I'll ride with him all day long, but live with him?" He shook his head. "Do you know how neat he is? I'd be afraid to put my feet up."
The girl laughed and shook her head. "He cleans your plate before you're finished eating."
Ponch nodded in agreement, "That's my partner. I'm Ponch." He stepped away from the door. "Come on in."
The girl stepped into the apartment and looked around with interest. "Oh look," she squealed. "He did keep it." She was pointing to a small photograph that Jon had hung on the wall with a blue fair ribbon pinned to it. "That's mine," she said proudly.
Ponch took a long look at the girl in front of him. She was younger than he had at first thought with long blonde hair that fell halfway down her back. She was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt from a local band contest, but it was her eyes that drew his attention. Her eyes were the same unusual sapphire blue that was a Baker trademark. He had only seen those eyes twice before. Jon and his sister both had them. "How are you related to Jon?" he asked casually as he leaned against the counter. The girl turned and looked at him surprised.
"How'd you know?"
"The eyes," Ponch smiled, "they sort of stand out."
The girl smiled warmly and tossed her long hair back over her shoulder. "Jon's my second cousin. My grandfather and his father are brothers. The eyes run in the family and I guess we pretty much all have them." She looked around the apartment and the smile left her face. "Where is he?"
Ponch eyed her up carefully. "He's laying down in the bedroom."
The girl stepped over to the bedroom door and slipped inside. Ponch followed her quietly. She sat on the edge of the bed looking at her cousin in alarm. The tears flowed steadily down her face as all sign of the earlier easy attitude slipped away. She turned her face to Ponch, "It's all my fault. It's all my fault." She kept repeating the phrase over and over as Ponch lifted her and guided her back to the living room of the small apartment.
He sat her on the couch and produced a handkerchief that he used to wipe the still flowing tears from her face. Giving up, he offered it to her and she took it gratefully. "Now," Ponch began, "how is THIS your fault." He leaned forward expectantly.
The girl sobbed softly and dabbed at her eyes with the now soggy handkerchief. "I ran away from home six months ago." She stopped and took a deep breath. "Mom and Dad got a divorce and she has a new boyfriend. God, he's the pits. He's mean and he's obnoxious and he's always after me. I tried to tell Mom, but she's so far gone on him. I know I should have toughed it out for another year, then everything would have been all right, but I couldn't. I just couldn't. I should've come to Jon or Granddad, but I was afraid they'd make me go back. I didn't know that nobody would hire me until I was 18 without all this paperwork. I got here to LA and tried to find a job until the money I had ran out. Then this guy told me he could get me some work. All I had to do was act. You know, be an actress? Well, by the time I figured out what he really wanted me to do, I was already doing it." She stopped the outpouring of words and looked directly at Ponch. "I'm a prostitute." She waited for a reaction. When none was forthcoming, she tried again. "Didn't you hear me? I sleep with men for money." She was practically screaming.
"I heard you," Ponch answered evenly. "You're Sally Furman, aren't you?"
The girl shuddered and leaned back against the couch. "Yea, that's what the clientele call me. My real name is Sara. . . Sara Baker. I couldn't believe it a couple of days ago when I saw Jon. I was afraid to talk to him and afraid not to. I didn't want him to know what I was doing, but I needed to see him. Do you understand that?" Sara's eyes pleaded with him.
"So, last night, he went to your place to talk," Ponch offered.
"Yea. He came up and tried to talk me into going to Granddad's. He told me that the family wouldn't care what I'd done as long as I went home. He even gave me some money so I wouldn't have to work for awhile."
"You gave him an envelope." Ponch prodded.
"I gave him a letter for Granddad, " Sara provided tearfully. "I didn't have the guts to mail it myself. He's going to be so disappointed in me."
"Did you know that the Feds are watching your place?" Ponch watched her face carefully for a reaction.
"What? Why?" Sara's reaction was genuine.
"They were looking for a dirty cop. Someone on the take. I'll give you three guesses who they saw there."
Sara began to cry again. "Oh God! Not only have I messed up my life, but I've messed up Jon's." She sobbed and pulled her legs up to her chest miserably. "How could they think that? Jon's the best!"
"They don't know him like we do." Ponch sighed and rubbed his eyes with his hand. "Are you here because you want to go home?"
Sara nodded vigorously. "I have to get back. I can't live like this. If Jon can forgive me, maybe the rest can." She wiped the tears from her face.
Ponch nodded in agreement. "Fair enough. Did the feds follow you here?"
"I don't know," Sara's eyes widened. "I didn't even know about all this. But, if they were looking for Sally Furman, they probably didn't. Sally Furman wears slinky outfits and puts her hair up. There's not a lot of Sara Baker in Sally. I don't think my own mother would know me as Sally. Jon took a few minutes to recognize me after I talked to him and he's my cousin."
Ponch nodded satisfied. "Why don't you lay down on the couch and grab some shut eye. Jon, you and I will sort this mess out in the morning." He stood up and walked towards the kitchen. "By the way, what was Jon doing this afternoon?"
"I don't know," Sara answered him. "All I know is that this has something to do with me. Unless he gets beat up more often than I think." Sara stretched out on the couch and closed her eyes. "He looks awful." A little sob started deep in her throat. "I never meant to get him into trouble, Ponch. I love him."
Ponch nodded and smiled at her. "Me too."
Ponch adjusted his position on the chair and tried to return to sleep. However, that option was past. The sun was coming up and he could hear the shower in the bathroom operating. He glanced at the couch where Sara still slept after she had cried herself to sleep the night before. He stood up and stretched uncomfortably before heading for the kitchen to make some coffee. By the time Jon had finished his shower, the coffee and toast were made and sitting on the table.
Jon came from the bedroom wearing clean clothes and looking slightly better with the dirt and blood cleaned from his face. He eased himself painfully into the chair across from Ponch and reached for the cup of coffee that his partner had poured for him. He smiled his gratitude but winced slightly as he drank the hot liquid. Indicating Sara, he asked, "When did she get here?"
"Last night, after you passed out." Ponch studied his cup and then looked into Jon's eyes. "Why didn't you tell Joe who she was? He would have understood."
Jon sighed and ran a hand through his blonde hair. "I know he would have. Unfortunately, the feds aren't Joe. They would have wanted to question her, maybe even use her for a sting. I can't let that happen." Jon stopped and sipped his coffee quietly. "It took me all of last night just to get her to try to come home. How could I ask her to go through an interrogation?"
"If you don't tell them, they're going to keep coming after you." Ponch's concern was written on his handsome face. "They're looking for a dirty cop and you were in the right place."
"Yea, I know," Jon sighed. "I figure if I give them who they want, they'll not need Sara or me."
"That's what you were doing yesterday?"
"Yea. I visited a few bars looking for the guy who arranges Sara's . . uh. . dates. I thought I might be able to pick up a lead or two from him. Offhand, considering the very professional job done on me by my two friends, I'd say he's in it up to his neck."
Ponch set down his coffee cup and stared at the table. "Sara might be able to tell us what we're looking for."
Jon glared at his partner. "No. She's going home, today. I need her out of here."
"Jon, be reasonable, " Ponch started.
"No. We'll work around it." Jon was not going to budge an inch and Ponch knew it.
"Work around what?" The soft feminine voice entered into the conversation.
Jon looked up and smiled at his cousin. "Nothing, sweetheart. Nothing I can't handle."
Sara scanned her cousin's face carefully and then turned to Ponch. "Work around what?"
Ponch smiled at her. "Jon doesn't think you can help us find out who is really on the take."
Sara sat down at the table and poured herself a cup of coffee. "Jon thinks I'm still a little girl. I think I've gone past that at this point. You ask, and I'll tell."
Jon hugged her. "You don't have to do this."
Sara looked at his bruised and swollen face with tears welling up in her eyes. "Yes, I do." She swallowed and turned back to Ponch. "Shoot."
"Did you ever feel that any of your clientele was a cop?" Ponch kept his voice quiet, soft and non-judgmental.
Sara slid down into the chair and knit her brows together in thought. "No, I never saw or heard anything about the police."
"Did you ever see anything unusual or were you asked to do anything unusual?" Ponch pressed gently. "Think, honey, its important."
Sara sat up a little straighter in her chair. "Benny would always set these two men up for the same night. The older guy would come and talk to me awhile and then give me an envelope before he left. Later on, the second guy would come and ask me to do some dressup stuff. You know, walk around wearing a costume. He never wanted anything more than to look, you know. Then he'd go to the bathroom to take care of business. When he came out, I would give him the envelope the older guy gave me. I kind of liked those nights, because I really didn't do anything. Does that help?"
Ponch looked at Jon. "The payoff."
Jon sighed and reached out to stroked Sara's hair. "Yea." His voice was strained and Ponch could see how hard this was going to be on him.
"Why don't you go and lay down for just a little more until I talk to Sara," Ponch suggested.
Jon shook his head no and motioned him to continue talking.
Ponch returned his attention to Sara. "Can you describe the second guy for me?"
Sara shrugged her shoulders. "He was just a guy. Average height. Average build. He had a bald spot on the back of his head that he tried to hide with what looked like fuzzy paint. He always wore these pathetic suits with skinny little ties and ugly shoes. Really ugly shoes. You know, old man shoes like the doctors make them wear. He had me wear a police uniform one time. He brought the uniform in a box, but he took the badge out of his pocket."
Jon leaned forward. "Can you tell me what the badge looked like?"
Sara shrugged her shoulders. "A badge. Not like yours though. His looked like a little shield."
Jon looked at Ponch. "LAPD"
"Well that would make sense," Ponch added thoughtfully. "Even the feds should be able to see how a cop working for LAPD could be more useful to a protection racket than a CHP motor officer."
"If we could narrow down the possibilities to a precinct. . ." Jon began.
"That shouldn't be too hard," Ponch interjected excitedly. "The feds are setting up shop in the federal building. They would know exactly where the protection racket is operating. If they have only one cop on the take, they'd center themselves in his area."
"And if there's more than one?" Jon asked tiredly.
"If there were more than one, they wouldn't be so quick to try and settle for you."
Jon smiled ruefully at his friend. "I hate to bring this up, but I don't think they'll be eager to share that information with us."
Ponch smiled and cocked his head. "Not with us, but Bonnie? Hey, I'd spill my guts to her."
Jon shook his head, "and I'd be involving yet another friend in this mess. No."
Ponch leaned back and cupped the back of his head with his hands. "You keep talking like you have a choice in this. I'm already involved and Bonnie's just waiting for the phone call. So's Jed. .. Bear. . . .Grossi. . . the whole family. Did you really think we'd just write you off?"
Jon blinked hard and cleared his throat before speaking softly. "I haven't known what to think for the last 48 hours. My whole world has been shaken up to the point where I'm not sure of anything anymore."
Ponch leaned forward, "Hey, man, you can be sure of me. You can be sure that Sara loves you. You can be sure that you're a cop. What else do you need?"
Jon laughed mirthlessly. "I need to get Sara home and get the feds off my back."
Ponch laughed, "Yea, I guess that would help."
Ponch and Sara sat outside of the LAPD precinct station and watched the human traffic that busily walked in and out of the building. They had been there for almost three hours, walking up and down the sidewalks and sitting companionably together on the steps watching for the man that Sara had talked about. Ponch yawned and then smiled apologetically at Sara, "I guess sleeping in that chair last night didn't do me a lot of good."
Sara smiled warmly at him and took a bite of the hotdog that he had bought her at the corner restaurant. She chewed carefully and swallowed before speaking. "The couch wasn't that bad, but I couldn't sleep without having nightmares of Jon getting beat up. If I could just go back and do this all over again, I would. I'd have stayed at home or gone to Granddad's."
Ponch shrugged his shoulders. "You know, some lessons get learned the hard way. You were lucky. You were smart enough to get out before it got to you."
Sara stopped eating and leveled a gaze on him. "I'm lucky to have family like Jonny and his dad, granddad . . . . and you."
Ponch searched her face thinking once again how much the eyes made her look like Jon. Anybody that couldn't see the resemblance had to be blind. "That's why Jon couldn't find Benny yesterday."
"Excuse me," Sara looked puzzled.
"Benny took one look at Jon and knew that he had to be interested in you. He saw the resemblance. That's why he had his muscle men do a number on him." Ponch was thoughtful. "If that's the case, then Benny may or may not know about his clientele and their payoff arrangements. He just wanted to send Jon a message to stay away from you."
Sara nodded, "I guess that could be it. But how does that help us?
"Benny might be persuaded to describe the arrangement with your two clients without involving you. That's provided that we make it a sweet deal for him. He can't be too comfortable right now knowing that one of his girls has a cousin that's a cop."
Sara grabbed Ponch's arm and leaned towards him. "That's him." Ponch followed her eyes to the door of the building where a middle-aged man in a suit stood smoking a cigarette.
"Got him," Ponch squeezed her arm. "Good work, honey. Now, Jon and I, will do our thing."
It was almost evening when Ponch stood in front of the bar. He checked quickly to be sure that Jon was in position in the truck across the street before opening the door. The bar was pretty standard fare with a few scattered tables and vending machines, the large bar with its stools taking up center stage in the room. The darkness was lit by inadequate track lighting with the remainder of the illumination being provided by the garish lights of the pinball tables and arcade games. The crowd was predominantly male with the occasional female companion and the bartender had a no nonsense look to him. Ponch took note of the large bouncer that sat on a stool near the door with his arms crossed. A baseball bat leaned against the wall behind him. Ponch walked over to the bar and took a seat. When the bartender came, he ordered a beer and took his time drinking it slowly while observing the customers. It was almost an hour before a man dressed in a suit entered the room and approached the bartender. Money changed hands and the well-dressed man went and sat at a table with another man that was indicated by the bartender.
Ponch motioned to the bartender for another beer. The bartender brought the beer and waited for his payment. Ponch leisurely pulled the money from his pocket and made a great show of placing it onto the bar. The bartender took a look at the twenty-dollar bill and then picked it up. "I'll get your change."
"You can keep the change if you give me a lead on a nice evening."
The bartender eyed him up distrustfully. "What kind of a nice evening?"
"I like them young and not too pricey." Ponch picked up his beer and took a swig.
"You don't look like the kind of guy that pays for it, buddy." The bartender leered at him. "Unless you have peculiar tastes."
"My taste is my own business," Ponch replied testily. "Do you know where I can find some action or not?"
The bartender nodded to the well-dressed man who was now sitting alone at the table. "Ask him. Tell him I sent you over."
Ponch stood up and walked over to the table. "Mind if I join you?"
"Yea, I do." The man gave him a cool look.
"The bartender told me you could tell me where I might find a little fun tonight."
The man eyed him up taking in his well-built body and ending at his face. "You don't look like you need to pay for it buddy."
Ponch smiled. "I have a few special things I like done."
The man leered. "Yea, I bet you do. Ok, have a seat."
"No," Ponch said, "I think I'd rather talk to you outside. There's too many extras around here."
The man hesitated for a few moments, but then nodded. Ponch followed him out into the slowly darkening street. Once they were out of sight of the door, Ponch stepped in front of him and flashed his badge. "Now, we can talk, Benny."
Benny's eyes widened and he looked around frantically for an escape route. "If it's about that guy yesterday, I didn't know he was a cop. I thought he was just after one of my girls."
"Right." Ponch took him by the arm and steered him across the street to where Jon waited on the far side of the truck. Benny saw Jon standing there and turned to run only to be stopped by Ponch. "Now, now, Benny. We just want to talk to you."
Jon reached out and pulled Benny to stand between himself and Ponch. "I need to talk to you about an LAPD officer named Bill Court."
"He's a cop, too?" Benny was beginning to feel extremely uncomfortable and he showed it. He kept staring with a sick look at the bruising that covered Jon's face.
Jon's voice was smooth and calm. "Benny, right now you're looking at a procuring charge, assault and battery, assaulting an officer, and uh. . .. . outstanding parking tickets. Now, my partner and I could arrest you right now and have it over with, but I'm not anxious to have Sally Furman testify in a court of law. I would be thrilled to have you testify that Oliver Madden, our friendly neighborhood protection king, and Bill Court, our neighborhood cop on the beat, have a mutual acquaintance, you, who provides them with a location where they can do business. Perhaps the powers that be would be thrilled to hear that as well."
Benny closed his eyes and sighed. "Maybe we can do business."
"Good," Jon glanced at Ponch, "Let's start with the date and time of Bill Court's next liaison."
Jon looked in the mirror and straightened the buttons on his uniform shirt. He smiled and attached his badge to the shirt and then ran his fingers through his hair. Two days ago, he had put Sara on a plane to Wyoming where her grandfather was waiting with his dad and an armful of college brochures. The old man had been so happy that Sara was found that he was completely oblivious to all else. When Jon had try to tell him what Sara was doing when he found her, he cut him off. His dad told him that the old man did know, he just didn't care. All he wanted was Sara. That sat well with Jon who wanted to put the whole thing behind him as soon as possible. Sara had made some wrong decisions, but it was going to be all right.
Ponch stepped into the locker room. "Are you coming some time today? If we miss AM briefing, Getraer will have our backsides for target practice."
"Yea, I'm coming." Jon took one last look in the mirror.
"C'mon, Jon," Ponch urged. "You already know that you look good in tan."
Jon smiled and picked up his helmet and gloves. "Damn straight. It's my color."