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So Shall You Reap

Mike Rader

    Walk a crooked path, die a crooked death. That’s what people say. Now my life can be measured in minutes. All because of that dame. And Coogan.

    The man’s arms were stretched taut in the leather restraints. The blonde wig smothered his bald scalp. The negligee was suspended from his shoulders. His feet were in red shoes with stiletto heels. He looked quite pleased with them.
    The whip sliced across his back.
    He let out a whimper. Falsetto, almost feminine.
    A long pause next. The dominatrix took her time. She was behind him, out of sight, and she determined the course of the session. He braced himself for the next crack of the whip. He knew it would be harder. It always was.
    He heard sounds. An intake of breath. Another sound, curious and alien. The dominatrix came tumbling into view, landing on her back, her throat slit, her lips gurgling blood.
    Now the man knew fear. He struggled. My knife rested against his throat.
    “Sorry to interrupt your pleasure, Captain, but I want you to tell me what you did with the cartel’s money.”
    The captain yanked hard on the restraints.
    My knife scratched against his throat.
    “You’d better tell me, Captain. If you don’t, you’ll die, and then your wife and kids will learn all about your secret life.”

....

    The patrolmen arrived within ten minutes of my anonymous call. They found the scarlet reception lobby deserted. Then they opened the door at the end of the corridor and entered the dungeon.
    The man on the walkie-talkie was responding to base. “Holy shit. Two dead women.”
    A fraction of a beat later, “Sorry. Make that a woman and a cross dresser.”
    “Hey, isn’t that Captain Coonan?” his partner asked.
    The Homicide Squad arrived within fifteen minutes followed by Internal Affairs and the forensics team. The media pack crowded the lane outside. The officers from Internal Affairs instructed Homicide to announce that as the result of a tipoff, two unidentified bodies had been located. Blood was pooled on the floor, splattered on the walls. The local cops knew that the Quiet Men would come and clean up. They always did.

....

    “What was a respected officer like Coonan doing there?” the deputy prosecutor asked me.
    I shuffled papers on my desk in Internal Affairs, looked across at the young attorney. “We knew about Coonan. Been watching him for months. But his case became a little more complicated than we thought. He was on the take. But then he got greedy. He intercepted Colombian money. Kept it for himself. They didn’t like that. They settled with him.”
    “And the money? Where is it?”
    “Either the cartel got it back, or Coonan took his secret to his grave.”
    When the attorney left, I checked the bottom drawer of my desk. I’d wrapped the knife in an evidence bag. “Connie” Coonan’s blood still streaked the blade. And the satchel of money was still there. Two and a half million. Mine now.

....

    Evie Rivers was waiting in her apartment that night. She led me to the bedroom. Later she poured me a drink. “Steve, when are you going to divorce your wife?”
    I’d run out of excuses. But that didn’t worry me tonight. Evie was expendable, just like my family. Now that I had that bag of cartel money, I was all set for a new life. But sadly, not with Evie. I’d met her in a bar, she told me she loved me, she loved to ask me about police work, said it made me mysterious. We’d had fun these last few months, but now it was time to leave the past behind.
    The lie came easily. “Evie, I’ve got to go away for a couple of days. Internal Affairs stuff. I’d love to bring you with me, but I can’t.”
    “Why not?” her luscious lips pleaded.
    “It’s an investigation. I’m undercover. Hey, I’ll be back next week, don’t worry.”
    “You know what it does to me,” she flared. “You going away—”
    “It’s worse for me, don’t you know that?” And I pushed her back on the bed and smothered her suspicions with kisses.

....

    My twenty-five-year career on the force. My twenty-year marriage to Joan. My hot affair with Evie. They were all going to end when the plane’s wheels left the ground. I had it all planned. I’d disembark in Mexico, switch to the Panama flight, buy a new ticket there and keep going. Nobody would be any the wiser. They’d only ask questions when I didn’t go back to work after my holiday. But by then, I’d have a new identity and the money would be secure in six different bank accounts. Being in Internal Affairs, I’d learned a lot of useful information about money laundering.
    And as for the cartel? Maybe they’d figure what had happened to their money. Maybe they’d think I was the only one who could have taken it. But I’d be well beyond their reach. No matter how powerful they were, I’d in the clear. The world is a big place.
    I watched my city disappear beneath the aircraft. I had no regrets. I sipped my drink. I tasted freedom.
    By the time we landed at Mexico City and I switched to a flight for Panama, I knew I’d committed a perfect crime, and the cartel would never see their money again.
    And then we were losing altitude. The voice from the flight deck sliced through my sleep. “My apologies, ladies and gentlemen. We have been requested by the Colombian aviation authorities to divert and land in Bogota. Apparently, there is a problem with our flight path, but they have promised to rectify the matter once we touch down...”
    What a joke it’d be. Here I was with the cartel’s money, landing in their home country, and they were none the wiser.
    The landing was smooth. A uniformed official boarded, hair slicked and shining with oil, and went to talk to the pilot. Behind him were two men in ill-fitting suits, followed by Evie Rivers.
    She pointed at me. “That’s him.”
    The other passengers looked away as I was lifted from my seat.
    “Evie, what are you doing here?” I shouted. “What do you think you’re doing?”
    She gave me a smile as I was bundled from the cabin. “You only have yourself to blame, Steve. I’ve been watching you for months. By the way, my name is not Evie Rivers. It’s Evita Rivera. My father is high up in the cartel.”

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