by Kris Calvert
“I’ve been on my own since I was sixteen. I couch surfed for a while to finish high school, then got a job to try and pay rent—you know—have a decent go of it.”
He was just another kid who’d fallen through the cracks of life and was swallowed whole.
“Can you tell me about the night they found you?”
Brady nodded. “I couldn’t handle the smack they were shooting. It was making me sick. But they got the call for me to go out—the blue eyed boy—so they dressed me up and shoved me in the van. I met the John in a back alley. We were in his limo—you know just driving around town. He was snorting coke. When I took a hit, I guess I was trippin’—you know—too high with the other drugs they’d already shot me up with.”
He stopped, and I thought maybe it was all too much to make the kid relive. But he kept on talking.
“I was giving the guy head and he was getting rough—you know some of the older dudes on the hill like that. Anyway, I gagged, and then I puked. I puked all over him, all over the back of his limo. But that wasn’t the worst of it.”
“It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me the rest if you don’t want to. I’ve read the report.”
“He was pissed. There was vomit and shit everywhere. It was so bad he barfed too. He tossed me out on the side of the road going probably…” he paused, looking to the ceiling for a number. “About forty-five miles an hour.”
“After the police questioned him and he was patched up,” Chops said. “One of the nurses at the hospital got in touch with me and he came here.”
“It’s a shit deal, man,” I said. There was no other way to express my sympathy for the kid. “I’m really sorry that happened to you.”
Shifting in my seat, I stared into his eyes. “Don’t you want these people to pay for what they did to you? What they might do to another kid just like you?”
He blinked deliberately and I could see the wheels turning in his head.
“You don’t know how powerful these people are.”
I nodded. “I do. I’m going to level with you Brady. I’m not here on official FBI business. I’ve gone out on my own and I’m using information and sources way outside of protocol to get to this girl. But I need your help. She needs your help. Now, we can crack the ring from one end or the other: the buyers or the sellers. Since the sellers are buried deep in the dark web, I’m hoping you can maybe point out a buyer.”
“Fine,” he said. “But if I do this, I want some things.”
I looked to Chops, who smiled. I didn’t know if the kid had been coached, or was just smart enough to cover his own ass. Regardless, I was impressed and ready to listen. “Shoot.”
“If I show you who these people are, you have to hide me—you know, witness protection or something. Because the guys have hit men on their payroll and they’ll end me. To them, I’m just a nobody—disposable.”
“Brady, to me, you’re as valuable as they come. I promise if you help me, I will make sure no one can ever get to you. If that’s witness protection, then so be it.”
“Cool. I just need one thing,” Brady said.
“What’s that?”
“A directory of the Senate—one with their pictures.”
“How do you know the man who threw you out of the limo is a senator?”
“I know.”
I did my best not to show my shock. Turning to Chops I asked, “Do you have a working internet connection and computer I can use?”
Chops nodded and got to his feet. “Follow me.”
Fuller and I exchanged glances as we followed them both down a dark hallway and into what seemed to be Chops’ office.
“She’s older than dirt and slower than me, but she gets the job done eventually,” Chops said, pulling the chair out from under his desk to point to the old desktop unit.
I sat down and immediately Googled the United States Senate. A nonpartisan voting website came up and one by one, I went through each state. Switching places with Brady so he could get a better look, we’d only made it through one third of the hundred men and women before he said something.
“That’s him,” Brady said. “He’s the guy.”
“You’re positive?”
Brady nodded. “He was new. I’d never seen him before. After what happened, I bet it was his first and last time.”
Suddenly, my mission to buy Frankie had turned into a top level takedown of Capitol Hill. I stared at the photo of Senator Jeremiah Storm, a powerful senior member of the Senate for more years than I could count. Unknowingly, I’d backed into blowing the doors off Washington, D.C.—no wonder the kid was afraid he’d be killed. If I took this man down, who knew what the repercussions would be?
Without saying a word, I turned and looked to Chops, who now stood in the corner with his hand balled in a fist, covering his mouth.
“Why haven’t you ever told anyone who he was, Brady? I mean before this.”
“I thought about it when the nurse at the hospital told me he was a senator.”
I stared at the back of Brady’s head. “And how did your nurse know he was a senator?”
“Because he came to see me at the hospital.”
“What?”
The office chair squeaked as Brady turned to stare at me. “He said if I told anybody, he’d have me killed and make it look like an accident.”
14
SAMANTHA
I drove the lane into Lone Oak, dodging the many catering, flower and black vans no doubt from the Secret Service lining the driveway. Inching my way past the string of dark sedans, I managed to get to the garage where Timms waved me down. He was in his eighties, but still spry and as long as he wanted to work and hang out at Lone Oak, Mac wanted him around. Just like Celia, he was family and no matter what, they’d both have a place here.
“Just leave the car out, Miss Samantha,” he said, shaking his head. “These jokers don’t know how to park. It’s musical chairs back here. I’d have to put the hurt on someone if they scratched the car Mac gave to you as a wedding present.”
Climbing from the car, I gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “You and me both, Timms.”
Rushing up the back steps and into the kitchen, I found Celia in a storm of food. It smelled wonderful and I was already hungry for dinner even though it was only two o’clock in the afternoon.
Hugging her from behind as she stirred something on the stove, I felt a renewed sense of energy and light, Mimi having set me back on the straight and narrow.
“Smells wonderful,” I said. “What is it?”
“Dax said he wanted some of Miss Celia’s short ribs and biscuits.”
“Let me guess, Dax is getting exactly what he wants.”
“You know it,” Celia said with a nod.
“Well, I hope Dax is in the mood to share because his momma is hungry. All this planning and going on has gotten the best of me.”
“Speakin’ of gettin’ the best—your guest has been usin’ my baby’s office all day and I don’t like it. Can’t you make him stay in that big ole guest room? What’s his problem anyway?”
“Oh Celia,” I chastised. “I have no idea why he’d be in there, but Mac and I have nothing to hide. What could he possibly get into in? A bunch of old dusty books?”
“He’s just got no business being all up in yours, that’s all.”
“Well,” I whispered, opening the kitchen door into the hallway, “I’m going to go check on Senator Business right now.”
I tossed my purse onto a chair at the bottom of the staircase and walked toward Mac’s study. I could already see a pitcher of sweet tea on a tray just inside the door and I could hear Boone whistling a tune. Celia complained about him but didn’t have a problem making sure he was comfortable and had a glass of sweet tea. It was the southern way. She didn’t have to like him to be kind to him. It was called manners and according to Celia, most of the world had lost them.
“How’s it going in here?” I chimed, helping myself to a glass.
/> “Oh, Samantha.” Boone stood abruptly upon my entrance. Still in his tight jeans and t-shirt, I decided it was a good look for him. I was sure plenty of women in D.C. liked it too.
Squeezing a lemon into my tea, I licked my fingers clean, making a face at the sour taste.
“Miss Celia was kind enough to bring me some tea. I hope you don’t mind I used your desk. I worked in the other room for a while, but came in here to receive a fax and just stayed for the change of scenery.”
“It’s fine. And it’s not my desk. It’s Mac’s.”
Boone blanched, making a face. “Maybe I should go back to my own room,” he said with a nervous laugh. “If I were Mac, I wouldn’t want some strange man working at my desk—drinking sweet tea with my beautiful wife—planning a party for a bunch of stiffs from Washington.”
“Now, be honest,” I said, sliding my flats off my feet and sitting on the couch, tucking one foot under my bottom. “If you were really worried that Mac would be upset, you wouldn’t be in here, now would you?”
“I suppose not.”
We shared an awkward moment of silence and I deliberately focused my attention on the activities outside. “Looks like we’re in full swing here. How’s the tent coming along?” I asked.
“Honestly, I don’t know. I’ve been inside all day working on something else.”
“Did the security detail find everything they needed? There certainly seems to be a lot of them.”
“Ah, yes. Agent Jackman has been in and out. You know, this is his last assignment.”
“Really?” I stood and walked to the window, my skirt swishing against my bare calves. “Retirement?”
“Ah, no.”
I turned and found him suddenly uncomfortable with my presence. The self-assured man of steel was visibly nervous. I, on the other hand, hadn’t been as calm and collected in days.
“He’s joining my staff.”
“Oh.” I was surprised an ex-FBI agent would ever think to go into politics. Mac always said after seeing the underbelly of Washington, there wasn’t enough money in the world to make him choose that life. He always said he liked his criminals right where he wanted them—in jail—not making policy. It made me pause. Boone Henry didn’t seem like the crooked Washington type—although I didn’t know if I knew what that even looked like. They all seemed like they were carved out of cream cheese and perfect for the camera. Who knew what really went on behind the scenes? Furthermore, I didn’t care.
A whole mess of these people were about to converge on Lone Oak. All I cared was that they brought their checkbooks. There were kids who needed to be saved.
“Samantha?”
“Yes?” I replied, still staring out the window.
“If, ah…you know…if Mac isn’t going to be home tonight—”
“Mmm hmm?”
“Well I was wondering if I could do something for you.”
Turning to face him, he’d moved from behind the desk to the center of the circular room. “What’s that?”
“You’ve done so much for North Star, for me and for this cause. Will you at least allow me to take you out tonight? For dinner—you know—just to say thank you.”
I stared at him. Was he this awkward with all women? He was the Hottie on the Hill, but to me he was more like a blundering teen full of apprehension. How did this man seem so together on camera and in front of a crowd, and so lost when he was alone with me?
“Dinner?” I asked.
“Honestly,” he said, taking another step forward. “It’s just. I don’t feel comfortable around…you know…women…and for some reason, I feel like I can be myself with you.”
I dropped my hand from the curtain and stared at Boone. “I don’t understand, Boone. I see you on television, I’ve watched you speak on the floor of the Senate, I’ve seen you on the campaign trail shaking hands and hugging babies—is all of that fake?”
He shook his head. “Of course not. I enjoy what I do—truly. I just don’t do well…you know…with women.”
Narrowing my gaze, I let my distrust of his comment show in my face. “But you date beautiful models. I’ve seen the photos.”
“They’re all set ups. I don’t really date. I’m horrible at it.”
“Horrible how?”
“I get inside my own head and I can’t think of anything to say. What does come out of my mouth either comes off as stupid or arrogant. I don’t know if you know this, but I have a reputation of being a, please pardon my crassness, dick.”
“I thought you only had a reputation of being the Hottie on the Hill.”
Boone dropped his head, staring at the loafers on his sockless feet. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to believe everything you read, especially in Washington?” He pulled his gaze back to meet my interested stare. “I’m a narrative constructed by other people.”
I looked away and Boone immediately began to backtrack.
“Look, I’m sorry. It was a bad idea. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable or anything. It’s just I have so few true friends and I feel more comfortable around you than anyone I can remember in recent memory. It was a silly idea. I’m sorry.”
He turned and walked away, gathering his things from the desk to leave. Was it possible Boone Henry wasn’t who he seemed to be? Was the handsome and powerful man really just a shy kid from Alabama who got picked up and thrown on the gravy train to carry out an agenda because he came from the right family and looked the part?
“Wait.” I said the word before thinking of the consequences of taking my working relationship with Boone to a different level—friends. He turned, and the sad puppy dog eyes he had made me feel like a heel for not being more sensitive to his issues. I swallowed hard and nervously swayed back and forth. “Where did you want to have dinner?”
The corners of his mouth turned up, slowly forming a smile. It was the kind of look Dax gave me when he’d finally talked me into something. It was a look of victory.
“I don’t have the first idea and don’t know Shadeland well enough to pick a place.”
He sat his laptop and files on the corner of the desk again. “It would need to be somewhere out of the way—you know, a hole in the wall kind of place. Somewhere cameras wouldn’t think to find us. I would hate for your husband to see his wife on Page Six of the New York Post tomorrow morning. You know what I mean?”
“Mac would laugh,” I said, knowing he wouldn’t be happy. “My husband and I have the kind of marriage where we trust each other implicitly.”
“I’m sure.” Boone looked to his feet again. “If we were in Washington, I’d make dinner for you. I’m actually a very good cook. But, I would never even think of moving Miss Celia out of her kitchen. I mean,” he paused, grimacing. “I don’t think she likes me very much.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” I said, slipping my hands into the pockets of my full skirt. “What if we keep it simple?”
“How simple?” he asked, now sitting on the edge of the desk and crossing his arms. The smile on his face was genuine, and I found it hard to believe if he acted this way with other women, he wasn’t doing just fine on his own.
“My back yard.”
72.14.141.173
ACCEPTED. NO HANDS.
15
MAC
Neither Fuller nor I said a word as we drove from the church to Tartarus. It was best. Pulling the burner phone from my pocket, I called Elias.
“Quit using the phone, dude,” Elias said, foregoing a hello.
“It’s a burner,” I replied, with a sigh. I was in deep and the last thing I wanted to hear was Elias whine at me.
“I don’t care,” he said, hanging up.
“Well shit.” Hitting end, I tossed the phone into the empty space between Fuller and me.
“We going back to the—whatever it is—the bank?” Fuller asked.
I gave him a fleeting glance and made a right turn. The only place I was taking him was back to the office. The new developments
in the case made it more dangerous than anything I’d ever worked on before. The last people you wanted to mess with were Washington insiders. Now, I really trusted no one. I didn’t want to speak about the case with a soul. I needed to do this on my own and outside of any Bureau assistance or interference.
“Look, Agent Fuller.”
“Just call me Jason, if you don’t mind, because I have a strong feeling I know where this is going.”
“Where?”
“You’re taking me back to the office and then you’re going to tell me if I say anything to anyone, you’ll know where it came from and you’ll label me as a snitch—a mole. No one will ever want to work with me as a partner again.”
Without emotion, I looked at him as we rolled to a stop at a red light. “I was actually thinking of just paying you for your silence, but if you’d rather me threaten you, I don’t have a problem with it.”
“Fuck you, Callahan. I can’t be bought.”
The light turned green and we drove on. “I’d be sorely disappointed in you if you could.”
“And you don’t have to threaten me. I’m smart enough to realize playing in that cesspool means death or worse.”
I let out a sharp laugh. “Ha, what’s worse than death?”
“Being ruined. How many people have you seen powerful politicians ruin to save themselves?” he asked.
“Good point,” I said stopping at the curb to let him out. “By the way, I know you have a crush on Micah, but it’s best not to let her know anything about what’s going down. So don’t let her sweet talk you into singing like a canary.”
“Shit fucking fire, Callahan.” He enunciated each word carefully and gave me a smile. “Who do you think you’re dealing with?”
“Good man, Fuller. Good man.”
I parked at the abandoned bank, leaving my phone in the cocktail shaker in the car. I made a mental note to get a better Faraday cage for the future. If this case had taught me anything, it was in today’s world, we all leave a digital trail in the wake of our mere existence.
