I keep clenching my hands into fists, realizing I must look incredibly suspicious and wondering if Agent Jones is watching me right now — if he’s on to what I’m planning — and then forcing them open and shaking them loose.
I’m alone, and I’m a wreck.
And now he is fifteen minutes late.
Soon, a black car comes around the corner and, at first, my heart races thinking it might be one of Bowen Dale’s men coming for me, until I see it isn’t a fancy-looking car, but the kind someone on a government salary might drive. It parks at the curb and Agent Jones gets out, stopping for a second to scan the road in both directions and, satisfied, he approaches.
“You finally came to your senses, huh?” He says. “I have to be honest, I wasn’t expecting a call from you. Sweet as you are, I thought you were too deep in the lifestyle to realize what’s best.”
“Can we get out of the open? I don’t want us to be seen.”
“Sure. Whatever makes you comfortable,” he says, then taking a moment to check out the street, he points at a set of open warehouse doors two buildings down. “There. That look private enough for you?”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak, I’m too nervous.
Side by side, we walk to the warehouse. Agent Jones enters first, cautiously, scanning the interior before beckoning me to enter.
“Now that we’re alone, it’s time for you to talk.”
“I want to know what happens next, once I talk to you.”
“That all depends on what you say. But I can tell you this, Addie: I’ve been after Bowen Dale Cooper for a long time. This case means a lot to me. I’ll stop at nothing to bring him in.”
“How much does my information mean to you? I want some assurances that my family will be safe.” The words feel like they’re vibrating in my throat, I’m so nervous.
He takes a step closer, looms over me; Agent Jones is a tall man, lean and muscled, with an angry, menacing face made hard by years in the FBI.
“I’m not giving you any fucking assurances. Not until you talk. Not until you give me what I want. I don’t care how pretty you are, Adella, the only thing that matters to me is finally arresting the son of a bitch who has left a trail of robberies and murders around the country for decades. Now, talk.”
“You don’t get to make demands of me,” I say. I reach out and give him a light shove to take a step back. “Without me, you won’t even have a chance of bringing Bowen Dale Cooper in. And this is how you treat me?”
“You think this is bad? Let me remind you: you called me here. I’m not standing in this piece of shit warehouse just to have a little chat with you. Talk. Or I’ll come after your family. You think your daddy will last if I throw him in the interrogation room? You think I can’t break that old man? Fuck, I’ll have him singing like a bitch and then I’ll throw everyone you care about in prison. Give me the information I need, or I will tear your life apart.”
I step deeper into the dark of the abandoned warehouse, and he follows in pursuit, eyes flaring, hands reaching for his back pocket, to either take out his handcuffs or his gun.
“So your answer is to bully me? You’re so fucking pathetic. You’ve chased this guy for years and now you’re so desperate that you’re going to threaten some young woman? Honestly, I pity you. No wonder you haven’t caught Bowen Dale. You don’t have the brains or the balls to bring him in. Hell, you’re not even man enough to be a traffic cop.”
Agent Jones leaps on me, putting both hands on my shoulders, placing his face an inch from mine. I can smell his breakfast on his breath — fried eggs, bacon, bad coffee — and spittle flies from his mouth as he shouts in my face.
Behind him, another shadow darkens the warehouse entryway.
“You stupid little bitch. I’m going to take you in, and you and I will spend some time alone in an interrogation room. We’ll see how your attitude changes once I turn the camera off. If you’re lucky and change your mind about being a hardheaded whore, I’ll just rough you up a bit. But if you don’t talk, maybe I’ll find another way to pry your lips apart.”
I struggle in his grip, kick at his shins, but it doesn’t do a thing to break his hold on me.
“You’re just pathetic. Fine. Arrest me. See what it gets you, you piece of shit.”
He pulls a pair of handcuffs out of his back pocket and slaps the steel over my wrists. Then he grabs tight to my shoulder and turns.
And comes face to face with Snake.
Gun out, silver steel barrel of the Desert Eagle pistol pointed right at his forehead.
“It’s over, Agent Jones,” he growls.
One pull of the trigger is all it takes to blow a fist-sized hole in his head.
This time, I don’t scream.
Agent Jones hits the ground in a limp heap, blood already forming a gigantic pool on the floor at the back of his head. Snake, face expressionless, stands over his body and pulls the trigger a few more times. The air rings with the sound of bullets and spent shell casings tinkling on the concrete floor.
Then, still unspeaking, Snake kneels over Agent Jones’ body and rifles through the man’s pockets with gloved hands. He draws out Agent Jones’ cell phone and a hotel room key attached to a keychain with Restful Inn written on it.
“I’m sorry you had to see that, Addie. But we’re almost through with this. Let’s get
