Alex glanced down at the sheriff’s finger and back up to his sunburned face. “Before things get out of hand, let’s get three things straight.” He held up one finger. “I want to be here as much as you want me here, so the sooner you can answer my questions, the sooner we can end this ‘friendship.’ Two,” another finger went up, “I’m here because three men have washed up on the shore of your little hamlet. All dead and . . .”
“We can’t help it when tourists try to go fishin’ in bad weather and capsize their boat.”
Still holding up his two fingers, Alex was beginning to lose his cool. “They didn’t drown, asshole; they had been drugged and shot in the back of their heads from close range.”
Miller moved the toothpick from the left side of his mouth to the right using his tongue. “Them bodies just washed up yesterday, how you know all that?”
“It’s called forensics. Now, what I would really like is for you to show me exactly where you found the bodies and then I want you to take me to where their boat was impounded.”
“Wait,” Miller smirked, holding up two of his own fingers, “that’s only two, what’s number three or did you miscount?”
Alex removed his sunglasses and snarled at the sheriff. “Three, you ever poke me again or touch me in any fashion, I will rip your finger off and shove it so far up your ass, it will take you a month to shit it back out.”
He didn’t wait for a response, just turned toward the water and walked towards the CSI officers.
2
Ten days later
The funeral service was well underway when the minister was interrupted by the deep rumbling of a motorcycle’s exhaust. As it neared the gravesite, a few mourners shook their heads, and a few others stifled a grin.
Frank Graham, the director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation kept his head down, but peered over his shades at the rider as she killed the engine of her 1952 Harley Davidson Panhead. The late morning sun reflected off of the bike’s white pearlescent paint and onto her mirror-lensed sunglasses as she swung her leg off the saddle. She stood next to her bike, removed the rubber band holding her ponytail, and shook out her long, raven colored hair. Arching her back to stretch, her curves caught everyone’s eyes.
A voice chirped in his earpiece. “She’s headed your way.”
The preacher looked back down at the good book and finished reading from Psalms 23. Finished, he closed the Bible and looked around at the hundreds of people who were gathered. “Even though Alex didn’t have any living blood relatives, I would be remiss by saying he had no family.” He spread his arms at the sea of humanity. “His family is here paying tribute to his life and mourning his passing.”
When the service was over, the dark haired biker walked toward the casket, removed the black glove from her right hand, and wiped the tears that ran down her cheeks. With a tenderness that was antithetical to her demeanor, she placed a white rose on the mahogany coffer.
“We haven’t had much chance to talk in the past few years,” she mumbled to herself as she stood over the casket, “but I’m going to miss you.” Once again, she wiped the tears as they streamed faster down her tanned skin. “You were my hero,” she mumbled. Her eyes darted right and left, glancing at all the polished wingtips in her peripheral vision. “All that was good and right about the bureau.”
She composed herself, pulled her sunglasses down over her eyes, stood, and turned from the gravesite and faced her past.
“I’m surprised to see you here, Agent O’Malley.”
She eyed the man from top to bottom and back again. “Nice suit. Did Men in Black have a wardrobe giveaway?”
She replaced her glasses and attempted to leave. She didn’t get ten feet before ‘clones’ of the first blocked her path.
“Is this the game we’re gonna play, Frank?” she asked.
“This isn’t a game, Agent. I need you to come in and I’m willing to do what is necessary to make that happen.”
Sinclair O’Malley stood eye-to-eye with Frank Graham, ripped her glasses off and burned a death-stare into his flesh. “I’m no longer an employee of the bureau or the United States, so cut the bull with the agent crap.”
Graham didn’t blink, he just smirked. “You left us no choice, Sin. You broke every directive you were given. You went so far outside the system, you’re lucky you weren’t brought up on charges.”
Her jade green eyes pierced Graham’s shell. “What’s with the ‘us’ shit? It was your testimony that put the nail in my coffin.” She snapped her head toward the other agents. “In fact, Alex Bell was the only man with enough balls to stand by me. The rest of you empty-sack bastards can go to hell.” She again addressed Frank Graham. “I came to pay my respects to the only man worthy of them. Now if you will excuse me, I’ll be on my way.”
“It’s not that easy, O’Malley,” Graham said. “We have unfinished business and I need to take you in.”
Sin took a step toward her bike. Again the agents moved in, each with their hand on the grip of their holstered weapons.
“That’s not a card you want to play, Frank,” she said. “Do you think I would just show up alone?”
Graham snickered as he stepped closer to Sin. “We have this cemetery surrounded. You have nobody.”
The left side of Sin’s full lips turned upward as she returned the snicker. “You want to roll the dice on that one?”
Graham pushed a button on his jacket. “Any sign of hostiles?”
“Negative,” came the voice in his earpiece.
Sin stepped toward her ex-boss.
He could smell her perfume mixed with sweat. The aroma, seductive and
