by Logan Ryles
No. Banks couldn’t believe it. She refused to believe it.
She wiped the tears from her face, careful to avoid touching her nose, then sat down on the concrete and crossed her legs.
“Hi,” she whispered. “I’m Banks.”
Eleven
Rural Arkansas
“The target’s name is Margaret Trousdale. She goes by Maggie, or Muddy Maggie. She’s the governor of Louisiana.”
Gambit waited for Montgomery to blink or show any surprise at all, but he didn’t. He again sat at the table in the darkened room, unrestrained this time, with his arms crossed.
“Nothing?” Gambit asked, tilting his head to one side. The churning hurricane in his stomach sent another wave of nausea through his body, but he avoided reacting. Montgomery couldn’t know how unsteady he felt.
Montgomery failed the test. He didn’t kill the judge or harm a hair on her head. And yet, Gambit had no choice but to proceed with the primary assignment. Montgomery called his bluff, and there wasn’t much Gambit could do about it. His back was against a wall now.
He could only pray that Montgomery pulled up short on the judge because he wasn’t being paid like he claimed, not because he questioned Gambit’s judgment. Because if that were the case . . .
Gambit couldn’t worry about possibilities anymore. Shortly after Montgomery fumbled the job in Little Rock, Gambit had finally found a suitable replacement to fill Trousdale’s office after her impending death. Somebody who was morally flexible, and willing to be a team player. That was a major step forward, and good news for Aiden’s operation, but it only mattered if Trousdale were eliminated on schedule. Gambit needed to concentrate on motivating Montgomery.
“Why do you want her dead?” Montgomery’s question was flat and toneless. It was the question Gambit hoped he wouldn’t ask because it reflected depth of perception on Montgomery’s part. Gambit wanted The Prosecutor to view this hit two-dimensionally—the target and the prize: kill Trousdale and get his father back.
A third dimension involving why questions dramatically increased the likelihood that Montgomery would go rogue. Should he brush it off and tell Montgomery to mind his own business? Or should he lie, come up with a morally justifiable reason why Trousdale should die, and hope that Montgomery believed him?
What did Oliver do? How did he motivate this mastermind of the kill to do his job and think two-dimensionally?
Gambit had no idea. He clenched his teeth and dug his fingers into the edge of the table. The stress that radiated through his body was reaching a fever pitch, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. Could Montgomery see past the charade?
“Governor Trousdale isn’t what she seems, Reed. My employer is engaged in some sub-legal business ventures, it’s true. Aren’t we all?”
Gambit forced a laugh. It sounded insincere, even to him. “But my employer does a lot of good in the world. An entire wing of his company is dedicated to researching and manufacturing life-saving medication, believe it or not. You know how the pharmaceutical world can be, though. So many layers of red tape holding back the progress of drugs that people are desperate to buy. Drugs that people need. Governor Trousdale comes from a poor family. She’s leveraging the power of her office against my employer, threatening to apply new regulations and restrictions. She’s trying to shut down his ability to manufacture the medications our customers need unless we pay her bribe, which we could do, of course. But does a person deserve to be congratulated for threatening the lives of thousands of others? My employer doesn’t think so.”
Again, Montgomery didn’t move. Gambit had no idea if he was buying the story or not, and it was maddening. It made him want to sling the table into The Prosecutor’s face, then bludgeon him with a chair.
Gambit sat on the edge of the table and folded his arms. “It’s a priority for my employer that Governor Trousdale meet a quick and conspicuous end, and for that, he is willing not only to give you your father, but also the multi-million-dollar bribe that Trousdale demanded. He’s a generous man, Reed. It’s not about the money.”
Montgomery offered a bone-chilling smirk. “I’ve worked on the wrong side of the law for a long time, Gambit. It’s always about the money.”
Gambit licked his lips and forced himself not to become defensive. It wouldn’t help.
“Reed, I’m not here to compare moral rap sheets with you. It’s my understanding that you have quite the checkered past yourself. You’re no stranger to taking the shot when the money is right. Well, the money is right. Very right. So, let’s stop with the banter and get down to business.”
Montgomery grunted. “Where is she?”
“Baton Rouge, usually. About a six-hour drive from here.”
“Security?”
“I’ve outlined everything we know about her schedule, her habits, and her security detail in this brief. It’s pretty comprehensive.”
Gambit produced a bulging envelope from his coat and laid it on the table. Montgomery picked it up but didn’t open it.
“Do we have a deal, Reed?”
Montgomery tapped the envelope against the table.
“I’ll need some equipment.”
“Of course. Whatever you need.”
“You should take notes.”
Gambit pursed his lips but produced his phone from his coat and opened the notes app. “Okay, Mr. Montgomery, may I take your order?”
“One Sig Sauer P226 handgun with five magazines loaded with +P hollow points made in America. No Chinese or Russian shit. One Springfield M1A Scout Squad rifle, with five twenty-round magazines filled with ballistic-tip, match-grade ammunition. American made. One Burris 200261 Ballistic Plex optic, brand-new, in the box. I better not find one damn fingerprint on it.”
Gambit paused over the phone and cleared his throat. “Is that all?”
“I also need five grand in small bills. And I need a car.”
Gambit nodded, jotting down the additional note. “Not a problem. I can get you something nondescript. A Ford, or—”
“I want a brand-new BMW M2 Competition Coupe, black-on-black, manual transmission. No sunroof. Louisiana license plates and local registration.”
“Not American made?”
“I don’t know, Gambit. Where do they make BMW?”
Gambit leaned back and folded his arms.
“Look, buddy. It must be difficult to talk to me from that high, high horse of yours, but I’m not a vending machine. I’ll get you what you need. I’m not buying your dream car.”
“You can’t afford my dream car. The Beemer will do.”
“You seriously think I’m dropping forty grand on a new BMW for you to wrap around a pole?”
“No, I think you’re dropping sixty grand on a BMW that I can do literally anything I want with because I’m the man for the job, and like you said, the money is right.”
Gambit held his glare on Montgomery, testing the waters, waiting to see if Montgomery was jerking his chain and seeing how much he could get away with. He couldn’t tell, and that was the most infuriating thing about Montgomery. Unless Gambit could knock The Prosecutor off-kilter—which took a lot—he had no way of knowing what this big killer was thinking.
“Fine,” Gambit said. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Montgomery leaned forward and interlaced his fingers. “You’ll get me what I asked for, down to the last detail. And then you’ll get the hell out of my way.”
Twelve
Louisiana State Capitol
Baton Rouge, Louisiana
“How long have you known Lieutenant Governor Sharp?”
Maggie cleared her throat and ran a hand across her mouth. It wasn’t a complex question, but it was still difficult to process.
“My whole life, I guess. His father owns a Chrysler dealership in my home town. He was a family friend.”
The man sitting across from her had thick black hair and the piercing eyes of a person who was used to having these sorts of conversations. Director
Jerod Brewer of the Louisiana Bureau of Investigation was a terrifying man, and that wasn’t just because he was sitting in her office, asking probing questions about her recently disgraced LG. Brewer had a commanding severity about him that made you believe he was going to sniff out the truth no matter how deep it was buried.
He was a bloodhound with a giant virtual snout that could smell a lie a mile away.
“How would you describe Sharp’s relationship with the late Attorney General Matthews?”
Maggie’s stomach conducted a somersault. She glanced across the room to where Coulier sat, his fingers steepled beneath his nose. He gave her a reassuring nod.
Brewer caught the exchange, and his eyes narrowed, sending another wave of nausea ripping through Maggie’s body. Did he suspect something? Was he on to them?
It probably wasn’t a good idea for Coulier to be here. Maybe it was making Brewer suspicious. But in a strange way, Maggie was reassured by Coulier’s presence. He’d disappeared the day before. Nobody was sure where he went. But when Coulier returned, his demeanor had shifted. He was more confident. More reassuring. Enough so that she had agreed to the “formality” of being interviewed by Brewer.
Maybe that was a mistake.
“Madam Governor?”
Maggie realized she hadn’t answered Brewer’s most recent question. She cleared her throat, stalling for time.
“I’m not sure how well Sharp knew Matthews. I mean, they worked together for only a few months before, well . . .”
“Before AG Matthews passed away.”
“Yes.”
“Did they collaborate on any projects? Any specific investigations?”
Maggie searched her tired brain, looking for a bone to throw the investigator—something true but innocuous. This interview had been going on for over an hour, and she just wanted him to leave.
“I can’t think of anything. I mean, Sharp and I were trying to find our feet back then. There was so much going on. It’s difficult to remember.”
Brewer nodded but didn’t look away. She couldn’t tell if he was suspicious or bored.
“In your official statement regarding Lieutenant Governor Sharp, Madam Governor, you wrote, quote: ‘Over the past six months, Sharp has demonstrated increasingly hostile behavior toward the administration, has spent prolonged periods of time in insolation, and has been negligent in his duties.’ Would you elaborate on that, ma’am?”
Maggie stared at the director and swallowed. The quote was from the statement that Coulier prepared, and once again, she cursed herself for signing it without reading it. There were things like this in the document—accusations and claims that were bold, unqualified, and almost hostile. Accusations that she would now have to back up.
Given the fact that they were all untrue, substantiating them was proving to be a nightmare. She had to think of a way to qualify her claims without stating anything objective enough to be disproven.
“Dan was . . .” She hesitated. “He was distant. Distracted. I felt like there was something on his mind.”
Brewer grunted and directed his stare at his notepad.
“Could you describe what you meant by ‘negligent in his duties’? What duties, specifically, was LG Sharp negligent in?”
It was all Maggie could do not to scream. She felt backed into a corner, as though drooling dogs were breathing down her neck and demanding answers.
This was her friend. Dan was her closest confidant, and she was lying about him. Destroying him.
Her hand began to shake.
She couldn’t do it anymore. She couldn’t lie about Dan. What the hell had she become?
Coulier spoke from the corner of the room. “Mr. Director. . . .”
Brewer looked up as Coulier stepped toward them.
“Mr. Attorney General?”
“Governor Trousdale is exhausted, and as I’m sure you can understand, emotionally strained. It’s been a tremendously difficult time for us all. Perhaps we can postpone the remainder of this interview for early tomorrow?”
Brewer didn’t look at all happy with the arrangement, but in an indirect way, Coulier was Brewer’s boss. This wasn’t going to be a debate.
Brewer stood and turned back to Maggie.
“Madam Governor, as I’m sure you know, the LBI would typically be happy to keep your office apprised of our investigations. However, since this investigation involves the executive office itself, I’m afraid that is not practicable. I will be reporting directly to the attorney general on this matter.”
Maggie nodded, barely hearing the words. She didn’t care who Brewer reported to. She didn’t care what happened next. Why did it matter? She’d betrayed her friend and stabbed him right in the back without a second thought. Nothing else mattered.
Coulier escorted Brewer out of the room, then shut the doors. He stood with his back to Maggie for a moment, then let out a sigh and took off his glasses. As he walked back to her desk, he pinched the bridge of his nose and crashed into the chair Brewer had occupied only moments before.
“I thought he’d never shut up,” Coulier muttered. “The man in insatiable.”
Maggie sniffed, then rubbed the back of her hand across each cheek. “He’s going to find out, Coulier. He’s going to know what we did.”
“And what did we do, Madam Governor?”
“You know what we did. We lied about Dan. We poisoned the—”
“Maggie.” Coulier leaned forward, folding his hands. “You must be so exhausted. You’re confusing facts. Dan poisoned the harbor. Dan set you up. And I’m not certain”—Coulier sighed—“that he didn’t actually kill AG Matthews.”
“What the hell are you talking about? Gambit’s people did that!”
“Gambit . . .” Coulier offered a tired smile, tapping his glasses against the arm of his chair. “You mean the man you say you met. The man nobody can find.”
Maggie sat forward. “What are you saying, Coulier? Are you calling me crazy?”
“Of course not, Maggie. You’re a strong woman, dedicated and relentless. Exactly the kind of woman I’m honored to work for. The kind of woman I’d like to report to as lieutenant governor.”
The room fell deathly silent, and Maggie’s back stiffened. “What?”
Coulier spread his hands. “Think about it. You need me by your side, now more than ever. The Louisiana State Constitution stipulates that in the event of a vacancy in the office of lieutenant governor, the governor should nominate a candidate for the legislature to confirm. This is an unprecedented opportunity to consolidate your power.”
“My power? Is that what you’re concerned about? Consolidating power?”
“Maggie, I know this is difficult to face right now, but the reality remains. You are the chief executive of the state, and the state needs you. It may be that our enemies were not who we thought they were. It may be that they were much closer to us than we imagined. That makes your mission to lead this state out of the shadow of corruption more important than ever. The people need you. Let me stand by your side. I have never failed you, and I won’t fail you now.”
Maggie slumped in her chair, her head spinning like it was suspended on a demented carnival ride. What was happening? Was Coulier really bidding to be her LG? It made no sense. He was a lawyer. A shrewd, ruthless lawyer with a personal vendetta against some businesses operating in Louisiana. That was the only reason he took the job as her attorney general in the first place: he craved power to avenge himself. Sure, that set off some red flags for Maggie, but she, too, was at war with an invisible force of corruption, and Coulier’s vicious approach to prosecution appealed to her.
Why would he want to be LG? It took him away from the legal branch and away from the most direct path to vengeance. Less power, less control. Was this man insane?
Maggie rubbed the heel of her hand against her forehead. A muck of memories swarmed her. It was Coulier, not Sharp, who suggested closing the port. Sharp had objected, adamantly, and wanted nothing to do wi
th the scheme. Hadn’t he fought Coulier every step of the way?
She sat up. “Listen to me very carefully, Coulier. You are, at best, an incompetent attorney general. At worst, you’re actually corrupt.”
“Maggie . . .”
“Madam Governor!” She smacked the desk with her open palm. “Don’t play me for a fool, Coulier. It was you who suggested I close the port. You who isolated me from Dan. I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but if you think I’m about to nominate you as my new LG in the midst of this shit show, you’ve got another think coming.”
Coulier pushed his glasses up. “Madam Governor, I’m truly grieved to hear you say that. I’ve worked tirelessly to prosecute your anti-corruption agenda, and I stand by my work. My suggestion that I be nominated was merely a thought. You’re right, though. It wouldn’t serve you best. I apologize for being so bold, and I apologize for being so familiar. I only meant to comfort you.”
Maggie felt suddenly unsure of herself. She didn’t expect Coulier to back down, let alone apologize. Had she come on too strong?
“Coulier, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that so harshly. It’s just—”
“Just a lot going on, Madam Governor. I understand completely.”
Coulier stood and offered her a reassuring smile. “I’m here when you need me, ma’am. For as long as you need me.”
He started toward the door, then paused and glanced back. “If I may . . . I do have one small suggestion, something that I think would soothe the tension around here.”
Maggie looked up. “Yes?”
“Take a trip down to New Orleans this week. Go to the harbor and conduct a press conference. You can reopen the port and give a speech. Remind the people why they elected you. I think it could be good . . . for everyone. Just a thought.”
“That’s an excellent idea. Thank you.”
Coulier bowed slightly, then disappeared through the doors. As they clapped shut behind him, an icy draft washed across her skin, and Maggie shivered.
