by G. K. Parks
He parked at the bar, the same bar we always went to after work. Taking a seat in a booth in the back corner, we ordered bourbon and stared uneasily at each other. I spun the glass on the tabletop. Bourbon wasn’t my preference; it had been Michael’s. I didn’t know what Sam drank and suspected it probably depended on his mood.
“Two things happen every time I step foot in the OIO building,” I began. “There is this crushing, debilitating wave of pain, guilt, and loss.” I gulped down a mouthful of the burning liquor. “And then there is this undeniable yearning to stay. To work. It feels like it’s where I belong, but being there is torture.” I stared at the table. “I want to come back, but I think it’ll kill me.”
“Alex,” he sighed heavily, “you have to accept that they’re gone, and it wasn’t your fault.” I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. So he continued. “Quite frankly, I think part of the problem is you need to blame someone because that’s the only thing that makes any of what you do seem rational.” I glanced up, thinking Jablonsky was just as crazy as me. “Nothing we do is sane. Normal people don’t chase after contract killers, bombers, or arms dealers. This is the only thing you’ve ever done, and so it seems normal to you.” He shook his head. “But it’s not. And so to make the risks seem negligible, you have to believe that you’re in control. Hell, those damn instructors at Quantico and every debrief you’ve ever sat through have all said the same thing.”
“What did you do? What could you have done differently?” I mimicked. “But,” I began to protest, but Mark grasped my hand, shushing me.
“What happened to Carver and Boyle was out of your control. There was nothing any of us could have done.” He swallowed. “I was on-site when it happened, and I still couldn’t do anything to change things.” He blinked. “Boyle saw such promise in you, Alex. He was backing your promotion.” He took another sip. “And Carver never blamed you. The kid had horrible luck. Hell, you saved him more times than not.”
“And he saved me.” I fought against the emotional response talking about this always led to. “But we found his letter of resignation afterward. He planned to leave. He never did because he didn’t get the chance.” I pressed my lips together.
“That didn’t mean you had to go because he wanted to,” Mark argued.
“No, but you’re one of the only people who saw firsthand what that explosion did to me.” I leaned back, forgetting my current injuries, and oddly found the physical pain a relief to the emotional turmoil. “I couldn’t stay.” I pressed a little harder against the backrest, forcing everything into perspective. “Hell, each time I’ve come back to consult, I can barely make it inside the building. So what do I do? I’m a basket case not being able to work and help on things like the Camel, but being in the building is unbearable. Even today, I was hiding in your office.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
“Yeah. And honestly, Mark, I don’t think my soul could handle losing anyone else. Particularly not if it was my order that led to it.”
“You have to find your peace with this.” He studied me. “When you took the job with Marty, I thought it would give you your confidence back. You’d help out my friend, remember why you do what you do, and come back to work. I never imagined you’d face off against a hit squad and almost lose him in the process.” I looked away, not liking thinking of that event either. Seriously, I wondered if I was jinxed. “Instead, everything had the complete opposite effect, and you ran even farther from your old life.” He snorted. “Well, your old job.”
“I can’t seem to stray too far from my roots.” I gave up on the bourbon and leaned forward, giving my sore back a reprieve. “I’m just stuck in purgatory.”
“How long will it take before you realize you do more good than harm? Shit happens. That’s not on you.” He finished his glass and shook his head. “Let’s be honest, if you weren’t insane and completely insistent on finding Donough, he’d be dead right now. Interpol has their priorities skewed, and they were still more concerned with finding a killer than their own guy.”
“Maybe.”
“Shit, Alex, I wouldn’t say this unless I wanted to hit my point home, but the only reason in this world James Martin is still alive and breathing is because you saved his life.”
“No,” I snarled, “that isn’t something you get to say. Not now. And not ever. The reason he almost didn’t survive is because of me. This does not go the other way.”
“He’d argue with you.”
“Yes, and he’d also be wrong.” I stood up. “Drop it. I agreed to talk about work, not about him. He and I made our peace with that a year ago, and that’s all that matters.”
“So then, it’s time you make your peace with the OIO. We need you back. Someone has to keep these Interpol assholes in line.”
Twenty-nine
Devereaux was hiding. Maybe he was hiding from the law enforcement officers on his tail, or he was hiding from the contract killer he somehow managed to piss off. It was hard to say for certain, and quite frankly, it didn’t matter either way to me. Chase Devereaux would either get caught or get killed. He wasn’t capable of going to ground and staying gone. It wasn’t in his nature. He was too arrogant, and he believed he was the smartest man in the room, which he wasn’t.
“Did you get anything out of Mallick?” I asked when Mark returned. I was in a conference room in the OIO building, skimming through the photos of Devereaux’s hotel room and the roof where the sniper shot at us.
“Not yet. Farrell and Donough are working him over pretty good.” He sat heavily in the chair and flipped open one of the folders. “How are you feeling today?”
“Fine.” I smirked. “Have you heard anything from Moretti on what the PD is doing to find Devereaux?”
“They have an all points on him, and since they’ve offered to help, we have them keeping tabs on your apartment and the hotel, and unmarked cruisers are positioned in key choke points near that house where you found Donough.”
“Has anyone been inside yet? There was tons of evidence just ripe for cataloging. It might lead to Devereaux or the Camel.”
He thrummed his fingers on the edge of the table. “The only problem with going inside is spooking someone.”
“Devereaux must know we have Mallick by now. Which means the only person we could even possibly spook is the Camel, and I don’t think he was behind it.” I bit my lip and narrowed my eyes. “What did Ryan say? Yesterday, I wasn’t allowed to sit in on his debrief so give me the lowdown.”
“Mallick and Devereaux showed up at your apartment unannounced, and the next thing he remembers is waking up in the room where you found him. He only saw Virgil and Chase. They kept him sedated.”
“What about the phone call?” I asked, but Mark shrugged.
“Guess they woke him up for his phone-a-friend.”
I considered our options. The roof didn’t have any hard evidence of our shooter, and Devereaux and Mallick’s hotel room was clean. Spotless. Whatever incriminating evidence they had was either off-site or they kept it with them. There must be a way to rattle Chase out of hiding.
“I want to take a stab at Barlow.” He was in charge. This was his crime ring, and these were his people. That son of a bitch wasn’t getting off the hook that easily.
“I’ll make it happen.” Mark left the conference room, and I phoned the major crimes unit to give the boys an update on everything that happened yesterday. I doubted anyone else bothered to take the time to do it.
After my interview with Robert Gregson, the locker at the bus depot was searched, and a briefcase containing numerous documents was discovered. The documents traced to overseas accounts that Barlow intended to use as payment for services rendered. Only two separate accounts were listed, one for Tommy Claxton and one for me. Although, I didn’t think the police department would actually let either of us keep the cash.
“We’re still determining how Gregson was paid since there were only two established accounts, but he’s not bein
g forthcoming,” Heathcliff said. “The accountants are looking things over, but there’s no connecting Barlow or Gregson with the money. Whoever set things up used fake identification, and it was done over the phone. From their records, it looks like Alexandra Riley and Tommy Claxton established the accounts themselves.”
“That’s funny. I don’t remember setting up an account. Maybe some chick actually named Alexandra Riley is behind all of this.”
“Ha. Ha.” He wasn’t amused.
“Keep digging. I’ll let you know what we find on this front since I’m about to speak with Barlow,” I offered.
By the time I hung up with Heathcliff, Mark had returned to the conference room. “Shall we?” he asked, and I followed him down the hallway. “Just remember, we want answers on the Camel’s whereabouts, identities of his victims, and possible safe houses, you know the drill.”
“Anything off limits?” I asked, wondering if we had to keep a lid on Ryan’s actual identity or who we had in custody.
“Frankly, if you get results, I don’t care what you tell him. Tell him we arrested his grandmother for all I care.” He looked glum. “His attorney’s waiting for us.”
Mark opened the door, ushering me inside. The grey walls, the single metal table bolted to the floor, and the two-way mirror were all familiar. Interrogation rooms were cold and uncomfortable, regardless of whether they were inside a federal building or a police precinct.
Reginald Barlow glanced up and attempted to mask the obvious surprise on his face. His attorney gave a curt nod to Mark, and after the briefest of introductions, I took a seat in front of Barlow, smiling brightly.
“Hey, Reggie,” I looked around the room, “the two of us keep running into each other in the most unlikely of places. A parking garage, a repair shop, and now an interrogation room. My guess is the next time we meet, you’ll be in a prison cell.”
“Gregson thought you were a cop,” Barlow replied.
“It did him a lot of good since he’s also in lockup.” I winked, getting up to pace the room. Mark was holding the attorney at bay with one of his stern looks, so I was allowed to play. “Although, Gregson wasn’t the only one who had a cop in his employ.” I waited for Barlow to meet my gaze. “You need to pick better associates. You should also select your clients more carefully.” I let the threat linger in the air. “Maybe if you did, your entire team wouldn’t be under arrest or running for their lives.” He swallowed but didn’t respond.
His lawyer shot a look in my direction. “Are you planning to ask a question, or did you just want to waste time, spouting off narratives and conjecture?”
“You get paid by the hour, right?” I retorted. Mark chuckled, and the lawyer shrugged. “Do you remember the first night we met? You were convinced I wasn’t a cop because the authorities don’t have the budget to let me steal a classic American muscle car, and realistically, that’s true. The problem with your reasoning is you assumed we were only after shutting down an auto theft ring. None of this has anything to do with the cars you boosted.” His attorney opened his mouth to protest. “Correction, the cars you hired Gregson to boost.”
“We want a name. A location. Means of tracking your clients,” Mark added. “There’s an AUSA on standby to cut a deal if you assist.” Barlow swallowed and shook his head.
“That’s okay. It’s just a matter of time.” I slid the chair out and sat on the edge. “Y’see, not only do we have Gregson, Mallick, and Claxton in custody, but Devereaux’s been incredibly helpful too. And of course, let’s not forget Wendi. Dear, sweet Wendi Hu. It’s only a matter of time before he eliminates everyone that connects the two of you. So the longer you want to sit here and be uncooperative, the fewer loose ends we’ll have to deal with when this is all over with.” I stood. “Hell, maybe we’ll lose some evidence and cut you loose. You wouldn’t survive more than seventy-two hours.”
Mark stood and pushed his chair in, following me to the door. He checked the time. “Alex, fifty says our runner doesn’t make it another twelve hours.”
“You’re on.” We left the interrogation room, and before the door closed, I heard frantic whispers exchanged between Barlow and his attorney. Maybe the Camel was a scary enough threat to warrant some cooperation, or they were devising legal strategy for after his extradition.
“That was it?” Mark asked as we went back to the conference room. “I thought you were going to knock the guy’s skull in or throw something incredibly damning at him to make him weep like a little girl.”
“I don’t know enough about Barlow to do any of that. Heathcliff offered to let me take another crack at Gregson now that additional evidence has come to light, but I’d much rather check out the crime scenes first. Interpol considers me a valuable asset, so I’d like to get to work.”
“Stay here. I’ll have a chat with Farrell and Director Kendall, and we’ll see if we can get a team over to that house. If we get approval, you’re coming with us.” He left me in the conference room and started down the hallway.
A few minutes later, Ryan surfaced. He opened the door and took a seat at the table, giving me an odd look. “Why are you standing there?”
“Tired of sitting.” I assessed the dark rings under his eyes and the paleness to his skin. “How’d it go with Mallick?”
He spat out a few French curse words. “On the plus side, he feels a hell of a lot worse than I do. They shot him up with a stimulant, and apparently, the drug interaction is incredibly painful. It wreaks havoc on the bloody nervous system.”
“Great.” I sat on the edge of the table, next to Ryan. “I take it you feel about as good as you look.”
“Worse.”
“Yeah, I know that feeling. Friday night, when I went home, I didn’t realize you were missing, and stupidly, I took a sip from the bottle on the counter. Next thing I know, Martin finds me unconscious on the floor. Two days of utter misery and that was only because of a single sip.” I patted his shoulder. “When I finally pulled it together and found you inside that horror fest of a house, I can’t imagine how you managed to shake off the drugs long enough to get out there, but you saved my life.”
He tried to process what I said, but he didn’t remember much of Monday evening. “All I know is I stabbed Mallick in the back with something.” I filled in the rest of the details, and Ryan nodded. Maybe he recalled what happened. “I’m glad I got there in time.”
“How ‘bout we just call it even from here on out?” I smiled.
“Do we know what the plan is now?”
“It seems the Camel is attempting to eliminate anyone who can identify him. Chase is still our best bet for a solid lead since he’s the only one not in custody. I’d say the schmucks we have aren’t too concerned since they’re behind bars.” I blinked, realizing Ryan was behind on our findings. “The car parts are the Camel’s confirmation of his kills. He leaves a part from the same make and model vehicle that his victim drives with the remains. It’s how he’s connected to Barlow. One of Reggie’s clients must be our contract killer.”
He nodded. “I never saw the client list, and neither did Mallick. It’s possible Devereaux knows who our killer is since he coordinated the business angles.” His eyes opened wider, and he actually looked alert. “When Reggie met with Gregson the second time, I think he might have brought the client list along with the requested cars. Robert might have a name.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, I dialed the precinct and gave the newly acquired information to Lt. Moretti. Heathcliff and Thompson were at the hotel doing another sweep of Devereaux’s suite and the neighboring rooftop, and O’Connell was working the drug connection. It was about time we made progress and wrapped this up.
While I was on the phone, Mark returned with the okay to go to the house, so I promised to stop by the precinct after we finished analyzing the evidence inside the house. We would find our contract killer, maybe even before Chase became a corpse.
After the three of us, a tactical unit, and the
forensic team arrived on the premises, I gulped down some air and worked the kink out of my neck. Scanning the neighboring area for any signs of activity and spotting no snipers or killers hiding amongst the trees, we entered the house. I went to the back door and explained in vivid detail my actions from Monday.
The large ceramic flowerpots, which were now decimated heaps, were the only real signs of a struggle, aside from the numerous bullet holes and casings that covered the walls and floor. With a gloved hand, I opened the basement door. Just after I cleared the squeaky second step, my phone rang.
“It’s Devereaux,” I announced, surprised. Mark immediately went to the tech team that accompanied us and ordered they trace the incoming call to my number. After getting the go-ahead, I answered. “Well, well, well, I didn’t expect to hear from you again,” I said bitterly.
“Riley,” he hissed, “I know you’re a cop.”
“If you’re so sure, why are you calling?” I let out a laugh. “Oh, you’re afraid your contract killer pal is going to kill you. That’s right. You pissed off the wrong person this time, Chase.” Mark gestured that I keep him talking. “So, what can I do for you?”
“Let’s meet alone. Can I trust you to do that?”
“Why should I take the risk? The last time we met alone, you pulled a gun on me.”
“Because I have something you want.”
“Newsflash, I’ve eliminated Mallick, and Hoyt’s safe. There’s nothing you have that I want.”
“Information on your killer.” He paused, and I could tell the wheels were turning. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? There’s no way this was about the few cars we took.”
“Tell me who he is.”
“Not until you provide me with protection.”
“After what you’ve done,” I growled, the rage just beneath the surface, “why the hell shouldn’t I let your buddy turn you into blood soup?” Mark nodded that they had a location, and I let out an audible sigh of relief. “Fine, this is the cost of playing by the rules, then so be it. When and where?”
