Cajun Justice

by James Patterson

  The officers graciously accepted. But while they liked the gifts, they seemed more impressed with Cain’s boots. He wore a pair of rust-colored alligator boots with his navy-blue suit, sans tie.

  “You Americanos are cowboys,” said Rojas, scratching his salt-and-pepper goatee. “Like President Bush.”

  Cain chuckled. This was the first time he was working with these officers, but he knew American politics often came up in conversation. Perhaps sensing a moment of awkwardness, another officer asked, “Where can I get boots like these?”

  “My old friend, goes by the nickname Prince, makes these at his camp on the bayou.”

  “Donde?”

  “Mi casa en Louisiana. It’s a town two hours from New Orleans. He makes boots, belts, and holsters out of leather, alligator, and lizard. Let me know what you want, and I’ll make sure to bring it on my next trip.”

  “Okay.” The officer smiled. “Hopefully they are comfortable, because with so much vehicle traffic today, we must walk to the conference.”

  “Bueno. A walk sounds”—Cain paused only long enough to inhale deeply—“nice after the morning I just had. I can use some fresh air.”

  Cain and the officers headed to the main door. The bellman, wearing a button-down jacket and white gloves, opened it. A burst of heat rushed into the lobby. “Have a good day, Mr. Lemaire,” he said.

  “Igualmente,” Cain replied. “Hasta luego.”

  The sun shone brightly and not a cloud was present. Cain retrieved a pair of sunglasses from his inner jacket pocket.

  “Where shall we start?” one of the officers asked.

  “From the beginning,” Cain said. “Let’s walk the entire path. I wanna know this place so well that locals would pay me to give tours.”

  As they walked, Cain mentioned several security concerns he had. “This morning, I saw boats not too far in the distance, over there.” He pointed toward the ocean, which was only a hundred yards or so away.

  “Sí,” the third officer replied. “Many of our people fish to feed their families.”

  “I understand,” Cain said. “Growing up in Louisiana, I did the same thing. Fried catfish was a staple for us.”

  “A staple?” the officer asked.

  “Yeah, um…” Cain searched for a definition. “Like a main dish. We ate it often.”

  The officer nodded his head.

  “I’d like to have at least two police boats out on the water,” said Cain. “I’ll give you two Secret Service agents to put on the boats.”

  As they continued walking the route toward the conference building, Cain pointed out additional areas of concern. “I would like to put a countersniper on that tall building there, and also on top of that white building over there. We’ll have a team on the roof of the hotel where the president is staying, so this gives us a triangle of protection.”

  “This is no problem. Our military snipers have been informed you may request this.”

  “Thank you very much. We’ll place a member of my team with each of your military snipers. The Secret Service agent will serve as a scout.”

  “A scout? They aren’t bringing their own rifles?”

  “Yes, they are. But overseas, we prefer to be scouts. If somebody does get shot, it’s always more politically correct when the local police or military kills one of their own, as opposed to us.”

  “Here”—Detective Rojas stroked his beard—“we don’t give a damn about political correctness. A dead asshole is just a dead asshole.”

  Everyone laughed. It was a nice distraction for Cain. If only for a brief moment, it got his anger toward Tomcat out of his mind.

  They had passed a few shops when Rojas pointed out an ATM. “This is a safe place to get pesos,” he said. “If you need to get money—say, three hundred dollars—this would be the place I recommend.”

  Speaking of assholes, Cain thought. The amount quoted was too specific. Cain was naturally easygoing, but he didn’t like being the punch line of a joke. “Are you messing with me?”

  “Cain,” Detective Rojas said, “this is my town. Nothing happens without me knowing about it.”

  “I’m listening,” Cain replied.

  “She came into the station wanting to file a report this morning. The desk officer referred her to me.”

  “Why you?” Cain asked.

  “I run the special investigations unit.”

  “What did she tell you?”

  “It does not matter,” he said.

  “It matters to me.” The edge on Cain’s words was sharp.

  “What matters is what I told her.”

  “And what was that?”

  “Salte de mi oficina ahora! Puta!”

  “Good, because I already paid her, and she was not even with me.”

  “She doesn’t want money,” Detective Rojas said.

  “I’m starting to gather that. Sounds like she wants revenge.”

  “Hopefully she was worth it,” the youngest officer said to the laughter of everyone except Cain.

  “Not for me. I was just trying to put out a fire, and now I’m getting burned.”

  “Burned?” Rojas asked curiously.

  “I guess you don’t know everything that goes on in your town.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve been recalled back to DC. I fly back tomorrow. Hell, practically the whole team flies back tomorrow.”

  “But the president arrives tomorrow.”

  “I know. They’ve already sent agents to relieve us. I’m just out here with you guys to try to do as much as I can before I leave.”

  “I like America,” Detective Rojas said. “I do. But sometimes I don’t understand your country. Hollywood produces movies like this all the time. My wife loves Pretty Woman.”

  Cain smiled. “Well, that woman from last night got a huge disappointment. Tom Jackson is no Richard Gere.”

  “I can’t understand this. Your government sends you all back because of one prostitute’s complaint? This woman is a troublemaker. Plain and simple. I kicked her out of the station. I took care of this for you.”

  “I wish it were that easy,” Cain said. “But the truth is my boss and his bosses see this whole thing differently than you and me. The Secret Service is embarrassed by this because they were notified after the American embassy was informed. The Service doesn’t like surprises. Surprises are bad—really bad—in this line of work. They’ll see it as a black eye on our agency.”

  “Since you are leaving tomorrow, do you still want to continue working now?”

  “Absolutely,” Cain said. “And I’d better use that ATM. I need some quick cash. There’s still enough time for my partner to get into more trouble.”

  Detective Rojas nodded. “I’ve been a police officer for twenty-eight years. I know what it’s like to have shitty partners.”

  “It’s nice to have things in common,” Cain said. “But I wish that wasn’t it.”

  Several hours later, after conducting the advance security preparations and host-nation liaison, Cain returned to the hotel. The same bellman was on duty. He always seemed eager to practice his English. “Mr. Lemaire, you look like you had a lot of sun today.”

  “Yeah.” Cain dragged out the word. “I guess you could say I got burned today—in more than one way.”

  “Are you finished now?” the bellhop asked.

  “Sure am. It was a long day, but I’m glad it’s finally winding down now. How was yours?”

  “Very busy, too. Many guests today. I mailed that package to Japan for you.”

  “Perfecto! Muchas gracias.” Cain handed him a generous tip before he continued toward the elevator. As was his habit, he automatically scanned the lobby for anything out of place. He stopped when he recognized the acne-scarred man walking toward him.

  Chapter 8

  “Good to see you again, brother!” Cain’s academy classmate, now an agent from the Atlanta office, bear-hugged him.

  “It sure is, Teddy! Just wish it
were under different circumstances.”

  “You’re telling me! I was this close”—he signaled with his thumb and index finger—“from busting a counterfeit ring. Got a group of Nigerians putting out the best hundred-dollar bills I’ve seen in my career.”

  “Ah, man. I’m sorry. I can’t believe they’d pull you from that case to come down here for this.”

  “I’m not surprised. Nobody in our agency cares about investigations. If you want to get promoted in the Service, you have to be on the president or vice president’s detail. Otherwise, before you know it, you’re fifteen years in and still guarding a garbage can in a hotel alley. I’ve become best friends with Oscar the Grouch.”

  “Well, the Service is overreacting on this one. I’m hoping it will blow over as soon as they get the full details,” Cain replied.

  “Tomcat and some of the others, I can see. But you? I’m not judging. I was just surprised to see your name.”

  “It’s not what it appears,” Cain said. “When a skunk sprays, a lot of bystanders have to deal with the smell, too.”

  As Cain talked with Teddy in the lobby, he noticed other agents hauling suitcases and coordinating room requests with the receptionist. The hotel had been booked completely, so getting the exiting agents checked out and their bookings replaced with the new agents was causing a logistical nightmare.

  “Cain, you’re one of the few on the president’s detail who I actually like,” Teddy told him. “You don’t have an ego the size of Air Force One. So, I don’t want you blindsided on this one. This is gaining more traction than you probably expected. The SAC in Atlanta is referring to your team as the Dirty Dozen. And apparently the White House is concerned that if the media gets ahold of this, it will overshadow the president’s participation at the Summit of the Americas. The Service’s PR guy is already talking to the White House in case they need to issue a press release.”

  “A press release? Are you yanking my chain?”

  “Afraid not, brother. I don’t want you getting burned over this.”

  Cain chuckled. “If today had a theme, it’d be getting burned.”

  “Just watch your back.”

  “I’ll deal with management as soon as I get back. Don’t worry about me. You just stay focused on keeping the president safe here. You’ve been out doing field investigations for so long you’ve probably forgotten how to do protection.”

  “I had to knock the wax off my earpiece,” Teddy joked.

  “That’s disgusting.”

  They laughed together. Cain described the security assessment and explained the primary and secondary routes and safe havens. He handed his colleague business cards and contact numbers for key personnel he had interacted with.

  “Sounds like you’ve done all the work for me,” Teddy noted. “I would have expected nothing less. Any other agent would have quit as soon as he learned he was being pulled from this trip. But not you.”

  “I’ve double-checked all the routes with the local police. I know I don’t have to tell you this, but don’t let your guard down. These international conferences are publicized well in advance, and always make me nervous. The manager has another route you can take the president tomorrow to escort him to his room. He’ll show it to you tomorrow morning when he’s back on the clock. That way you can avoid going through the kitchen. I always have a bad feeling about that.”

  “Remember Bobby Kennedy,” Teddy said, referring to the senator’s assassination in the kitchen of the Ambassador Hotel. “We must have seen that video clip a hundred times in the academy.”

  Cain nodded. “At least a hundred. Should you run into any hiccups or have any questions, just shoot me an email or give me a call. My flight isn’t until eight in the morning. And I’d rather talk to you than Jackson.”

  “Who wouldn’t?”

  Cain smiled. “Good luck with the visit.”

  As Cain started toward the elevator, the agent’s eyes were diverted downward. “Those gators waterproof?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good.”

  “Why?”

  “They’ll need to be to wade through the shit you’re about to trudge through in DC.”

  Chapter 9

  Cain returned to his hotel room and welcomed the cool air blowing from the AC unit. He felt sticky, and his suit was soiled with sweat. He couldn’t wait to disrobe and take a cold shower. While in the shower, he kept replaying the events from that morning. Should I have paid her, or just let the police get involved? Neither scenario was ideal, but he concluded that he had made the right decision.

  He hurried to meet up with Tom Jackson in the hotel’s lobby. While waiting, Cain noticed the woman he’d paid off, sipping a cocktail at the hotel bar. So much for the security guard’s promise to keep her away. He’s probably getting a kickback.

  “Where we going tonight?” Tom asked.

  Cain maneuvered his body to block Tom’s view of the hotel bar. “Definitely away from here. I know just the place. Saw it today while doing the security advance with the locals.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about. Local cops always know where to go to have a good time.”

  “It’s a British pub.”

  “Let’s go to a club, not a British pub.”

  “Absolutely not. It’s nearby, and I’m starving for some fish-and-chips. It’ll be a chill spot for us to strategize about the way forward. We need to. That’s the most important task ahead of us.”

  Cain asked the bellhop to hail a taxi. When they jumped in, Tom began running his mouth a thousand miles an hour.

  “Not here,” Cain interrupted him. “We’ll be at the pub shortly. Let’s discuss it then.”

  “This cabby probably don’t even speak English,” Tom commented.

  “Regardless, Jackson, you’ve embarrassed me enough today.”

  “All right,” he conceded. “I’ll wait till we get to the pub.”

  The pub was heavily accented with thick, dark wood. It was shaped like a rectangle, and British memorabilia—photographs and artifacts—adorned the walls. It was empty, not including the English expat in his sixties who said he was the owner. “What are you blokes drinking?”

  “Two whiskeys,” Tom answered.

  “And fish-and-chips,” Cain added. “Make the chips extra crispy, please.” He grabbed a matchbook from the bar and continued toward the back corner. He absentmindedly rubbed the matchbook in his left hand—between his fingers. He and Tom sat down at a table. “I wasn’t expecting this,” Cain said flatly, referencing the fact that the soundtrack to Grease was playing in the background from two speakers mounted on the wall.

  The owner brought them their drinks.

  “Must be some serious discussions going on tonight.”

  “How do you reckon?” Cain asked. He caught himself feeling more suspicious than usual.

  “Fellas, this place is almost empty. Yet you chose this corner. You don’t look like businessmen—too athletic for that—so I figured you’re here for the Summit of the Americas and are probably going to discuss politics or security—maybe both.”

  “Good eye,” Cain said.

  “I wasn’t always a bartender,” the man said. “Name’s McMillan. Call me Mac. Used to be navy intelligence. For Her Majesty, of course. I should’ve stayed in, but I fell in love with a local woman.”

  “So much for being intelligent,” Tom quipped.

  Cain turned to Tom. “Like you have any room to judge.” He then turned back to Mac. “I hear they’re hard to resist.”

  Mac chuckled. “Yes, they are. So, I moved here and opened up this pub.”

  “It’s a nice place you have,” Cain said. “And it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “It’s not fancy, but I’m proud of it.” Mac used the dead air to excuse himself. “Well, I’ll leave you fellas to it. Your fish-and-chips will be out shortly.”

  The pub offered enough privacy for Cain and Tom to talk openly. They discussed the events that had transpired and p
redicted what would happen.

  “The Service has a long history of partying and screwing around. We’re no different from the politicians we swore to take a bullet for,” Tom commented before gulping his drink.

  “You know we’re not held to the same standard as politicians,” Cain said. “They can be as crooked as a dog’s back leg, but we carry gold badges. The public demands more from us. It doesn’t matter if you were a Secret Service agent for only a month ten years ago. If you were arrested for DUI, the headline would read ‘Ex–Secret Service Agent Arrested for Driving Drunk.’ We have to think strategically here if we’re gonna get out of this mess.”

  “What do you mean? What are you thinking?”

  “Well, for starters, did she ever tell you what she did for a living?”

  “Nah. I just thought she was a local who wanted to party with someone on the president’s security detail. Relax, bro. We did nothing wrong. We’ll be fine.”

  Cain became angrier. “We did nothing wrong? We?”

  “Yeah, we did nothing wrong.”

  “If we did nothing wrong, then why am I leaving before this mission is complete?” Cain continued, raising his voice. “Hell, the whole team has told you over and over to maintain a low profile. Don’t draw so much attention to the Service. You know we operate in the background, but you always find a way to put us in the spotlight.”

  “You like to operate in the background. You don’t mind being a shadow.” Tom puffed out his chest and pointed to it with both index fingers. “But I’m different. I’m in the show, baby. As you like to quote, ‘To thine own self be true.’ I’m just being true to myself.”

  “And to your wife and kids back home? Are you being true to them?”

  “Don’t go there, bro! I love my family and provide for all their needs. They have a roof over their head and food on the table. I take care of my family.”

  “What about your family here? Your Secret Service family?”

  Before Tom could answer, their attention was drawn to the bar’s entrance. Three other Secret Service agents stumbled into the pub. It was apparent that this was not their first stop of the evening. Upon seeing Cain and Tom, one of them pointed and shouted in a slurred voice, “It’s the other members of the Dirty Dozen.”