Free Final Victim (1995) by Stephen Cannell Page A

witness deals are really something. What's this Cholo got you need?"
    "I'm afraid that's classified, sir," Lockwood droned, "but it's a major case. This interview was approved by the big boss, the Attorney General herself."
    "Y'all gonna brung-um back chere tonight?" Stan asked, exposing both a horrible education and brown tobacco-stained teeth.
    "Absolutely," Lockwood said. "Checked in before ten so we won't have to get the admittance staff back to reprocess him.. No sweat, no hassle. By the way, where's that store where I get the boots? Is it off Front Street?"
    "I wrote down the address. The tan ones, in ten and a half." "Them's good-looking ones y'all got on right now," Lockwood said , putting a little twang under it for unity, while looking down in admiratio n a t a pair of hand-stitched western boots on the fat guard's feet.
    "Yep, El Dorados. Handmade. Got the bulldogger heel on 'em , too . . . great for stompin' the chit outta pissed-off little yard bunnies. Ain't that right, Cholo?"
    Malavida smiled his sweet smile. "Yes, boss," he said.
    "Tell you what . . . we'll bring the Luccheses when we check him back in tonight."
    "Why don't y'all go get 'em now? Just fifty minutes away. An' in the meantime, I'll run this official request through the system . . . get the Assistant Warden's approval."
    "Good idea. See you in a bit." Lockwood turned to go, then stopped and turned back. "By the way, Stan, we don't need anybody diming us out. The A . G . wants this kept confidential."
    "I gonna be so busy lookin' at my new boots, throwin' a spit shine on 'em, I ain't gonna have no time to do nothin' else." He grinned.
    They left Malavida there and drove to Santa Barbara for the boots. Karen was quiet all the way to town. "Did you really lie in court?" she finally said, as they were headed back.
    "You give up a lot of yourself to do this job. You can give up your family, your life, pieces of your self-respect. You get damn little in return, 'cause all the rules are written against you."
    "But did you lie?" she asked again.
    "Why don't you ask him if he was guilty?" Lockwood looked over and saw something in her eyes he hadn't seen before. It looked strangely like pity.
    They got back to the prn an hour and a half later. Stan had Malavida waiting in the visitors' area, in handcuffs and a waist chain. He handed the keys over to Lockwood and watched while the agent signed the release in triplicate and promised to have the prner back that evening. Then they all walked out to the car with Malavida where Lockwood handed Stan the boots. Stan looked at them and whistled low.
    "Ain't them fuckers a sight to behold," he said.
    In ten minutes, they were down the road and out of sight. Lockwood had put the fifteen-hundred-dollar Lucchese boots on his Customs Service credit card. He didn't have a clue how he'd justify the expense. But he was already hanging so far out on this deal, it probably didn't matter. In the back of his head, a question buzzed around like a fly in a bottle: He was already in deep shit with Internal Affairs, so why was he out here in California busting a Federal prner loose with bad paper, just so he could help Karen Dawson break into a computer he didn't really care about? It made no sense. Then a new thought hit him. Was it for his own emotional survival? Was he subconsciously trying to get himself thrown off the job before it destroyed him?

    Chapter 9
    S*0*L*I*M*F*H*0.
    Malavida Chacone sat in the backseat beside Lockwood while Karen drove the yellow LeBaron. They had put the top up. Malavida was dressed in prn blue jeans and still wearing the cuffs and waist chain. They pulled into the sleepy town of Lompoc. Small, architecturally bland buildings housed 7-Elevens and chicken franchises. Malavida was straining forward, looking out the window, his senses quivering at the smell of freedom.
    They rode in silence until they hit a stoplight and Lockwood said, "Whatta you need t'crack a computer?"
    "A ten-dollar hammer and