His nostrils flare with rage as he shoves his finger in my face. “That monster murdered my wife and my two little babies. Like they were nothing!”
“I know you’re hurting, partner.”
He throws his hands up. “Spare me the fake fucking sympathy. You don’t have kids or a husband. So you don’t know how it feels to have it all snatched away from you, and then find out there is no justice for them because the killer is a victim of brainwashing. Pfft, what a load of pig shit.” He leans against the car and slumps down to the ground sobbing.
“I mean, who the hell even said he was brainwashed.”
“Me.”
He launches to his feet. “Why? Because he told you?”
“One, I believe him, and two the evidence points toward brainwashing.”
He glowers at me in disgust. “You believe him? Has the goddamn booze finally rotted your fucking brain?”
“Listen, Damn it! The people he targeted were not innocent. Secondly, it was Drake’s handler that shot your kids, and then Drake killed him for that.”
“Good for him, but it still doesn’t change the fact he brought all this shit to my doorstep, and I’m gonna kill him.”
“Look, I understand you’re so goddamn pissed off you want to burn the world down, but you have got to keep a clear head. Drake is the kill switch for all of the fuckers involved in this. Wouldn’t you rather shut down the bastards who had Drake on a leash?”
He lowers his head. “You said none of his targets were innocent? If that were true, then what were my wife and kids guilty of, hmm?”
Damn it, me and my fucking mouth.
I shrug. “Nothing.”
“Don’t bullshit me!” he snarls.
I let out a groan. “Jason, as your partner, I’m begging you to stop digging. You won’t like what you uncover.”
He grabs me by the collar and shoves me against the car. “Goddamn, it tell me!” He sobs.
Damn, there is no way out of telling him now.
“Fine, your wife was killed because she was dealing weapons to terrorists. I hid it from you because I knew it would destroy you.”
He stares at me in shock as he lumbers backward, tears pouring from his eyes. “What?” He grabs a wad of my shirt. “You piece of shit! You don’t get to decide what I can handle, I do!” He slings me across the hood of the car, and my body makes a violent thud on the concrete. I lean up against the car and spit blood out of my mouth.
Fuck, I busted my lip on my trip across the car. I guess I deserved that.
He storms around the car. “Oh shit, you alright?”
I’m trying my best to stifle my rage, so I don’t kill the fucker with my bare hands.
“I’m fine, you, prick.” I retort.
“Look, if you report me, I will understand. I had no business grabbing you like that.”
I squint my eyes at him. “I’m not going to report you, Jason. But if you do that to me again, I will beat you to fucking death.” my voice strangled with anger.
“Fair enough.” He stands up, extending his hand. I grip his hand, and he pulls me to my feet. I stare at him with rage lingering in my eyes. “Devi, I don’t get it. My wife hated terrorists. She would preach to our girls about how evil they are.” He hunkers over behind the car puking his guts up.
Do as I say, not as I do seems to be Cala’s method of parenting.
He glances over his shoulder, wiping his lips on his sleeve. “Why did this happen to me? What have I done to deserve this shit? Does God mock me?”
“Listen, you can stand here in your own vomit blaming it on God, karma, the universe; whatever kind of shit you want, but sooner or later, you’ll realize sometimes life is a cesspool filled with evil shitty people. No god or karma or the universe had anything to do with it.”
“I have to go, Devi.”
“Jason.”
He turns. “Yeah?”
“Stay above water. Don’t let the abyss pull you under.” He doesn’t say anything; he just keeps marching to his car.
The truth doesn’t always set us free. Sometimes it just enslaves us to more pain.
***
Sitting in the Raging Leprechaun sipping a glass of scotch, my cell rings, and its GG. “Devi, I talked to my contact.”
“And?”
“He’s heard about David Drake, and he said Drake was a damn fine soldier and he served his country with distinction. He said Drake actually defied orders and ordered his unit to kill a group of insurgents about to stone a woman and her child. He said Drake won the Victoria Cross medal during a night raid on a village heavily fortified. Drake single-handedly took out twenty insurgents who had his men pinned down.”
I take one last drag before smudging my cigarette in the ashtray. “So, Drake was a war hero?”
“According to my contact, yes.”
“Okay, thanks, Goodwin.”
“No prob. Take care.”
I dial up Agent Munroe. “Lobos, how can I help you?”
“How is Drake holding up?”
“Doctors say he’s stable, but the DT’s are making him really sick.”
“Is still able to talk?”
“He is, but I advise we wait till that shit is out of his system before taking his statement.”
“Yeah, we don’t want the lawyers pulling the ‘he was under the influence of drugs’ shit.”
“Exactly.”
My phone pings with a text
Lobos, blood came back from the sniper. His name is Jacob Holt, an ex-marine scout sniper. His blood matches the blood we found on the roof.
-Amber-
“Lobos, you there?”
“Yeah. I just got a text from the lab that puts Jacob Holt on the rooftop as the sniper. That was his blood we found on the roof.”
“Alright, let’s go charge
