Charlie grabbed Sin’s coat. “You play this hand, Sinclair; there is no going back.”
She placed the file under coat and winked. “I still have one ace up my sleeve.”
60
“I’m glad you accepted my invitation,” Graham said.
“Your invitation? I could have sworn it came from the White House.”
Graham sipped his martini. “I figured that would help get you here. I knew you would love another chance to lurk around the halls of the White House.”
Charlie laughed. “It’s been a while since I’ve been inside. It’s always nice to see what changes a new administration makes.”
Their chitchat stopped as Westcott entered Charlie’s peripheral vision. Like everyone else, he was in formal attire. He strutted around like Napoleon Bonaparte and on his arm was his Josephine.
Graham watched Charlie watch Westcott. “Did you bring me the evidence proving your allegations against him?”
Charlie accepted another drink from a passing waiter. “Not tonight, Frank. Let’s just ring in the New Year like a couple of spies and talk business tomorrow.”
Graham waved to a couple of passing politicians. “What about O’Malley? How is she?”
“Why do you speak of the dead, Frank?”
“That’s bullshit and you know it.”
“Then, I guess, you will just have to wait and ask her yourself the next time you see her.”
“Tell her I’m still holding her position open for her when you talk to her.”
Charlie tipped his glass toward Graham. “I’m too old for all this glitz. I’m going to call it an early evening. Good night, Frank.”
Charlie handed his valet ticket to an all American looking young man—Troy—who soon returned with his car. Along with a tip, Charlie slid a piece of paper in his palm.
Troy grabbed the next ticket and ran for the guest’s ride. In the car, he read the note and called Sin.
“Black Tails and Emerald Green gown.”
“Gotcha,” Sin answered.
Shortly after the guests counted down the New Year, the event ended. Troy watched for Westcott and Maggie to leave and grabbed Westcott’s ticket as soon as he laid eyes on them.
Again, he phoned Sin. “Black Lincoln Towne car. I’m placing a GPS inside the passenger rear wheel-well.”
“That’s his ‘company’ car. Fully armored,” Sin said. “I’ll take it from here. Let me know if the bastard tips.”
“Will do,” Troy laughed.
“Charlie, you copy?”
“I’m here, Sinclair.”
“I have eyes on Westcott’s townhome, I just need you to follow them and let me know if they deviate from the destination.”
“I have the GPS pinging on my dash. I’ll stay in touch.”
Thirty minutes later, Sin watched as Westcott drove his car into his garage.
Sin leaned away from her vantage point, watched, and waited. In that moment of silence, she thought of all the pain they had caused and of the words Westcott said when they had raided the church.
With money comes power and with power, we can do and live as we please, and nothing you do will change that.
The stupid bastard gave himself away with that ‘Modus Operandi’ bullshit, she silently snickered.
She took a deep breath and waited for Westcott to enter his townhome.
Sin watched as Westcott and Magdalene entered the bedroom and waited for the perfect moment. As they hurried out of their evening attire, she threw open the closet door and stepped out.
Westcott’s mouth dropped open and his complexion ashened at her sight.
“It’s like seeing a ghost, isn’t it, Folsom,” she said as she pointed both of her 45s at the pair.
“How could you―” he stammered.
“I thought she was dead!”
Sin looked at Maggie. “Not everything is as it seems, is it Mrs. Heap?”
Perspiration clung to Maggie’s bare shoulders. “I can explain,” she said. “I was a victim, just like you, and―”
“Shut the fuck up,” Sin yelled.
She looked back at Westcott who seemed to gain confidence in his situation. He held his hands out and smirked. “Go ahead and cuff me. This isn’t over yet.”
“Yes, it is,” Sin said, looking at both of them with dead eyes.
With a steady pull of the triggers, she thought, Tonight, I am an instrument of change.
La Perla Angel de la Muerte.
61
The rifles aimed high and the shots rang out in a twenty-one-gun salute. Politicians, friends, and acquaintances gathered around Folsom Westcott’s gravesite as the nation said its final goodbye.
All the guests were dressed in their finest mourning dress―black suits for the men and black dresses for the women. All but one. One was dressed in black leather pants, a black tee-shirt, and black stiletto heels, all covered in an ankle length black leather coat with an open seam up the back.
Once the crowd dispersed, Graham stood face-to-face with Sin. “There aren’t many people who could have entered the Secretary of Homeland Security’s townhome and shot him from point-blank range,” Graham said.
“No, nice to see you alive, or how have you been. That’s not very politically correct of you, Frank.”
“Cut the shit, O’Malley,” Graham steamed. “It didn’t have to end this way and you know it.”
“Yes, it did.” Sin turned to walk back towards her bike.
“Sin,” Frank yelled, “I have to take you in. Damn it, you know that!”
She turned to face him. “This all seems so familiar, doesn’t it, Frank. Do you remember when you asked me to take this assignment? Do you remember standing here at Alex’s funeral?”
“What’s your point, Sin?”
“My point is,” she pointed to Westcott’s gravesite, “I finished the assignment. You wanted justice for Alex and the others? Now, you have it.”
“But―”
“But, nothing, Frank.”
“That doesn’t give you the right to take the law into your own hands.”
“Bullshit, Frank. The bureau does it all the time. You want to take me in? Be my guest,” Sin pulled a file out of her coat and handed it to Graham, “but before you do, read this.”
He opened the file. “Jesus, O’Malley,” he said, shutting the file, “where did you get pictures like this?”
“Just the tip of the
