Nobody Rides For Free
Page 25
“I can help with that,” I said. “Product tasting? Flashcards?”
“All of the above. We just have to make sure we don’t get too distracted.”
I thought of Lester’s rocking body and how much fun we had together. “That could be a problem. But we’ll figure it out.”
I hung up and went back to work.
• • •
Government paperwork being what it is, it took most of the month to wrap up the investigation that had begun with Brian Garcia’s flakka-induced rage.
Colin Hendricks handled the flakka investigation. Garcia would face charges for the assault, but fortunately the woman he attacked had made a complete recovery.
Nicholas Geier was arrested for the murders of Alexei Verenich and Dorje Brewer, and he implicated Vadim Kurov in both cases. Katya was going to be pulling together evidence of Kurov’s many illicit businesses for a long time to come.
By providing evidence to the DA, Eric Morozov managed to evade prosecution for letting the cheetah loose on Ana Cespedes and me, and there wasn’t enough evidence to implicate him in the porn filming. One of the guys at the gym told me Eric had left town for a fresh start somewhere else.
I went over to Lazarus Place once a week to hang out with the boys there, and I was pleased that Ozzy had gone back to school and appeared to be thriving. Dimetrie had opted to test for the GED instead of finishing high school, and got a scholarship to study with a Cuban ballerina who ran an elite program in Pompano Beach. One of the dance moms there had offered him and Lucie a room in her house, and Lucie had been able to get away from her nasty grandmother and enroll in an arts magnet school where she could study voice.
Shane had been unable to post bail, so he was in a detention facility waiting for his trial. Franny, his co-director with the big gauges in her ears, had taken over the operation of Lazarus Place and was looking to hire someone to replace Shane.
Lester and I spent a lot of time together, tasting different artisanal spirits, then quizzing each other on the details. I thought I knew about liquor from my time behind a bar in State College, but there was a whole new angle I didn’t know about, and it was fun to explore that with Lester.
I accompanied him to a three-day seminar in Orlando sponsored by one of the bourbon brands, and on our way back to Fort Lauderdale we detoured past the wildlife refuge outside Ocala where Antonio Cruz’s cheetah had been sent.
I didn’t know what I was doing there, but I guess I needed to see for myself that the cat had survived getting shot. We made it there in time to catch one of the tours of the facility. The volunteer who led us around told us that Felix was the only cheetah there, but there were lots of lions, tigers, ocelots, and other wild cats to keep him company.
The preserve took up nearly eighty acres in the middle of nowhere, and the cats were allowed to roam freely within designated areas. I was disappointed that we didn’t see Felix on our tour, though the guide assured us he was out there somewhere.
The rest of the group continued on, but I stopped by a wire fence in the area where Felix was supposed to be. “Felix!” I called. “You out there?”
No answer, of course. “I wanted to say I’m sorry I shot you. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me or Detective Cespedes. You were doing what came naturally to you. No hard feelings, OK?”
I turned away, ready to rejoin Lester and the rest of the group, when I heard a chirping noise, and I looked back. I recognized Felix from his tan coat and dark spots—and well, the guide had said Felix was the only cheetah there.
He moved sinuously toward the fence, his expressive brown eyes focused on me, and I wondered if this was what a gazelle felt like out on the savannah. I was glad that the chain link fence was between us.
“Hey, Felix,” I said. “You happy here?”
He chirped again, then stretched his head out as if he wanted to be petted.
“Sorry pal, but I can only go so far,” I said. “All my body parts stay on this side of the fence. But you look good. I hope they take good care of you.”
He sprawled down on the thin grass on his side, looking up at me.
I stood there for a moment, communing with him, until the tour guide called, “Sir, we’re ready to wrap things up. I need you to come with the group.”
“You take care of yourself, Felix,” I said.
He got up and stalked away, moving gracefully, not looking back.
Good advice for me.
Acknowledgments
This book would not have been possible without the insights I gained as a participant in the FBI’s Citizen’s Academy, as well as through my membership in the Citizen’s Academy Alumni Association and attendance at InfraGard presentations—where the idea for this story first began. I’m grateful for all the great speakers, the lab visits, and the chance to shoot and watch SWAT demonstrations.
Christine Jackson, Kris Montee, and Sharon Potts provide valuable feedback on every piece of writing I share with them, and their comments are always in my head as I write and revise. Thanks to Jim Born for technical help, though I take full responsibility for all errors and improbabilities.
Additional thanks to Randall Klein and Lia Ottaviano for their editorial input as well as to everyone at Diversion Books who has helped get Angus out to the world.
And of course, Marc, who makes it all possible.
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