“The army is not that much different than the police when it comes to soldiers marrying soldiers. They have different last names because of Army regs. If a subordinate is married to a superior officer, one of them is transferred to another base.”
He takes a sip of his drink. “Makes sense.”
I nod. “Yep.” I knock back the rest of my drink while he is harping on what a shitstorm this case turned into. I take a drag from my smoke, glancing up at him.
“We should try the rest of his contacts,” he suggests.
I flick the ash off my cigarette. “That’s a dead-end. Mateo is gone, and with Conroy dead, the only other solid contact is Barret.”
“Damn. Look, this is just a shot in the wind, but try his old house we raided.” He lays the money down for his drink and mine.
“More like beating our heads against the wall. I turned the place upside down. There’s nothing there.”
I order another drink, and puffing on my smoke. My scotch arrives at the table. “Anything else for you two?”
“No more for me, thanks,” he says. The waitress turns, leaves the table.
Exhaling smoke across the table, and sipping my drink. The sound of the door opening draws my attention to the front of the bar, it’s the bitch I tried to beat to a pulp earlier. “Hola, GI Bitch. Come to apologize?”
“No, Detective. I come here because I need your help.”
“Really? Because that is exactly what Agent Conroy said, and then I was cold-cocked only to wake up and see him and Drake riding off into the sunset together. So why the hell would I help you?”
She sobs. “Detective, I am not asking your forgiveness, but I want to help you shut these people down.”
I take another drag from my cigarette, blowing smoke at her. “What about all that shit with the British government wanting him back in the UK? And won’t the US Government go all PMS on you for ignoring their orders?”
“I don’t give a shit anymore.”
I lean back in the booth, crossing my arms with my cigarette tucked in the corner of my mouth. She thinks I’m clueless as to what’s going on here.
“Let’s play a game. Let’s pretend I’m not as stupid as you think I am.”
Her eyes become red with grief, and she looks down at her lap.
“I know you’re only willing to help me now because your wife is dead. I get it you want revenge, but I’m going to tell you what you told me. You’re missing the big picture. Drake is a vital asset in the war on terrorism. Now you know how my partner feels. See, this is the problem with you people; it’s all well and good till the shit happens to you, and then you’re ready to atone for your sins. Well, guess what? I’m all outta fucks to give.”
She looks up at me. “I can give you Drake. Better yet, I can give you the people who employed Drake. I just need protection because I don’t have to tell you the minute I start burning them. I am a walking dead woman.”
“Frank leans forward. “You better give us something good for this protective custody. Because if it turns out to be a waste, I’ll throw your ass back in the bear cage.”
“Oh, it’s worth it, Lieutenant, but like I said, this information is radioactive.”
I lean forward, glaring at her. “FYI, the Feds will be waiting on us at the station.”
“Good. Because you’re gonna need their level of juice to shut these assholes down.”
“Tell us what you know.” I take one last drag from my smoke before stubbing it in the ashtray.
“No, not here. Let’s go back to the station.”
I fold my arms. “No. You tell us some of what you know, and we will determine if the information you’re offering is worth putting you in protective custody.”
She slumps her shoulders. “What do you want to know?”
Just as she is about to speak, the front door opens. She grips her gun and jerks her head to the door, sizing up Agent Munroe. Terror burns in her eyes. “Relax. That’s the FBI,” I say.
Frank must’ve texted Munroe.
She extends her hand toward to Barret. “I’m Special Agent Sarah Munroe of the FBI. And Sullivan tells me you have some things you want to share.” She starts to speak, but Munroe cuts her off. “Uh, not here. We need to get you to my field office where it’s safe.”
I clear my throat and point at Barret. “Don’t you think it would be better if we found out if her info is worth our time first?”
“That is not protocol, Detective. We need to get her to my field office where it’s secure.”
“Lobos, this goes as high as a US Senator and the CIA. MI5 is crawling up MI6’s ass as we speak. It’s not safe for either of us here,” the colonel adds.
“Which is precisely why I do not want to have this conversation on the outside. We may as well be standing near a bomb waiting for it to go off.”
We step outside of the bar, and as I near the agent’s black Sedan, Barret shouts. “Lobos!” She shoves me forward. My shoulder slams into the car. She yanks out her 1911, but before she could get off a shot, bullets rip through her chest, neck, and shoulder. She collapses to the ground clutching her neck writhing and gargling a few seconds later, her body becomes motionless. I couldn’t get to her. She was in the open, and I would just be another dead asshole in the street.
Shit!
There were no gunshots; the sniper used a suppressor. The rest of us yank out our guns and scan the roofs across the street. A
