I slide the phone over to her. “It’s fucked up how they did Drake. I mean, imagine a prisoner in your own body for two years.”
She strolls back to her chair. “I know which is why proving he was under the influence of these drugs is so important. So get me something else other than this tape recorder.”
“Even if we prove he was controlled, he is going to be messed up from the ground up.”
She rips open an Alieve and slips the pill in her mouth, washing it down with a bottle of orange juice. “Indeed. Anyway, I won’t keep you any longer. You’re dismissed.” I stand up and leave her office.
***
The ER is packed with people sick with the flu. Thankfully I haven’t had that shit this year. I stop at a hand sanitizer dispenser. And I don’t intend to get it this year.
I stop at the front desk, and the Nurse glances up from her paperwork and hands me a clipboard. “Please tell us what’s wrong with you and give us your insurance information.”
What’s wrong with me? Where to begin.
“Detective Devora Lobos Homicide. I am here to see the shooter they brought in.”
“Oh, yes, he’s through those doors to the right. Your people are all around the room. You can’t miss it.”
“Thank you.”
The automatic doors open as I near the entrance. I turn right and spot a group of uniforms along with Agent Munroe, who looks like she has been waiting a while. She notices me and paces to me with impatience in her eyes. “I was beginning to wonder if I should question him without you.”
“Sorry I got hung up with the Chief. How’s your arm?”
She holds up her bandaged arm. “I think I’ll get to keep the arm. However, my suit is ruined hence the Tampa Ray’s shirt and blue jeans.”
“I’m fucking devastated for you.”
Her mouth slightly opens. “You’re all heart, Lobos. Anyway, let’s get to it.”
I flash my badge to the officers guarding the room. “Go on in, Lobos,” he says, stepping aside.
“Officer, no one is to come into this room while we are here conducting this interrogation. Not even the medical staff, understood?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The shooter is asleep in the bed with a bandaged wrapped around his lower leg and handcuffed to the bedrail. We loom over him on the opposite sides of the bed. I slap him across the face. “Wake up, motherfucker.”
He begins to lunge at me until he feels Munroe jamming her Glock against his healthy leg. “I wouldn’t do that, asshole. Not unless you want a bullet in the other leg.”
“We will start with your name and go from there. So if you would, please introduce yourself.”
He clenches his jaw. “You two can bloody well go fuck yourselves.”
“I see.” I pull out my baton and slap my hand over his mouth. My stick whacks his injured leg, and he lets out a muffled cry. “You killed a lot of people today! Now give me your fucking name, Puta. Or I am going to hurt you really fucking bad.” My voice sinks into a growl.
He chuckles as he winces in pain. “Typical American cop. Don’t you have some black people you need to go shoot?”
“Like I haven’t heard that one before. Now give me your name.”
“Fuck off, yank. I’m not giving you shit.”
“I’m gonna be honest with you, the people you work for hate loose ends, and that’s what you are right now.”
“I thought I told you two to fuck off.”
“Drake was their prized agent in the war on terrorism, and now they’re trying to kill him because he has become a loose end. You’re just a hired gun people like you are a dime a dozen to them.”
Worry builds in his eyes. He is wondering if I’m right.
“Man, MI5 is cleaning house across the pond. When push comes to shoves, who do you think they are going to burn first?” Munroe adds.
“You know what, Munroe. Some people you can’t help, so pull his guard and let’s go get a drink.”
We near the door and he cries out. “Alright, fucking hell!” his voice frantic.
I smile at Munroe. “Well look at that, reality finally set in. Some people just need the picture painted for them.” I cross my arms. “Go on. I’m listening.”
“My name is Logan Price, and I am an Ex-Royal Marine. I work for a company that MI6 contracts out, so they don’t have to be directly involved.”
“You mean a mercenary.”
“That’s the less corporate-friendly term, but yes, a mercenary.”
“What’s the name of your company?” Munroe asks.
“Valkyrie Solutions. MI6 and CIA outsource their dirty work to us, so they keep their bloody hands squeaky clean.”
Makes sense. Under the law, it’s illegal for the CIA to conduct missions on US soil.
“We were sent into to clean up Drake’s mess. We were supposed to kill both of you, along with Drake and his sister… erasure protocol.”
I scoff. “Nice job with that, by the way.”
He scoffs. “You joke, Detective. But we’re persistent if nothing else. Our clients hate loose ends.”
“What can you tell me about the Scopolamine MI6 gave Drake?”
“Sorry, Detective, I’m just a gun for hire. They don’t tell us much of anything, but where to go and who to kill.”
“Who would give me more helpful information?”
He lowers head thinking for a moment. “Sorry. The only one I know who can help you with that information is Drake or his
