by Diane Kelly
Despite Carl’s fashion faux pas, you couldn’t help but like the guy. He was genuinely nice, old-fashioned in a sweet and quaint way, and he was nuts about The Lobo.
When Lu noticed me, she waved me over to join them, hiking her thumb at the empty bike to her right. “Hop on, Holloway, and let’s talk.”
I greeted Carl and settled onto the bike, plunking my water bottle into the cup holder. I dialed up the mountain-climbing program and set off on my virtual journey. As angry and upset as I was, I could likely beat Lance Armstrong’s record, even without performance-enhancing dope.
The Lobo cut her eyes my way. “I’m working on Burton and the DFO.”
“Nick told me.” I leaned forward to put more power into my pedaling and glanced Lu’s way. “What do you think the chances are of me getting my job back?”
Her mouth, framed in bright orange lipstick, curved down in a clownish frown. “George Burton’s never hired someone back after he’s let them go.”
“So it’s hopeless.” I fought the urge to kick the bike.
“There’s a first time for everything,” Lu said.
“Sure!” Carl called from his bike “Never say never!”
I suppose the guy meant to be supportive, but his overly cheerful attitude kind of made me want to pull his short shorts up his crack. Misery loves company.
Lu cut me a look punctuated with a flutter of her false eyelashes. “George Burton’s never faced someone as determined as me to get an agent back on the payroll, either.”
Lu’s support was heartwarming. But what I needed was a way to make Burton and the director of field operations realize how much the IRS needed me.
I leaned forward for more leverage and huffed with exertion as the virtual route took me up a foothill. “I went by Martin and McGee this morning to see if I could get back on with them.”
“And?” Lu asked.
“They said ‘thanks, but no thanks.’”
She frowned. “That stinks.”
“That’s just the beginning,” I told Lu, grunting out my words as I pushed down hard on the pedals. Might as well hit her with the civil suit first rather than the potential criminal charges. Better to ease her in. “I was served with a civil lawsuit today. Don Geils is suing me for ten million dollars.” Actually he’d sued me for $10,002,842.39, but the medical insurance deductible and out-of-pocket expenses were negligible compared to the punitive damages.
Lu pursed her lips and forced a blast of angry air out her nose. “That rat. You should’ve killed him while you had the chance.”
Carl dabbed at his pasty face with a towel. “There’s no way on God’s green earth that a jury in Dallas, Texas, would give that man a dime.”
Okay, feeling less inclined to give Carl a wedgie now. He had a point. People in Texas tended to have little mercy on criminals. The state was the capital of capital punishment, leading the nation in executions. Heck, under the state’s penal system children as young as fourteen could be certified as adults. Never mind that the kids might have yet to reach puberty. So, yeah, it was doubtful a jury would award a criminal a large civil settlement.
Nonetheless, I’d still have to file a response and deal with the nuisance suit. It was ridiculous, really. Even if Geils won the damn court case, he’d never be able to collect. I didn’t have $10 million. Even with the equity in my town house and my retirement savings I was worth only forty grand at best.
But it wasn’t so much the money that worried me. It was the fact that a jury could determine that I had, in fact, been unjustified in my actions, that I’d used excessive force, that I was no better than the slimeballs I’d pursued in my job. That would hurt far worse than the associated monetary penalty.
I looked pointedly at Lu. “A DOJ attorney named Troy Kerr called me, too.”
“I know Troy,” Lu said. “He’s been a U.S. attorney for fifteen years or more. A real tiger. He’ll be a good man to have on our side.”
Only he wouldn’t be on our side. Or at least not on my side. Lord, this was getting complicated.
Lu took a sip from her water bottle. “Is he helping Ross O’Donnell prosecute Geils?”
“No. He says they’re considering criminal charges against me for excessive force.”
Lu’s orange-rimmed lips fell open and her feet stopped pedaling. The machine beeped and displayed the message WORKOUT PAUSED, chastising her for interrupting her exercise. “Kerr is coming after you?”
“Yep.”
“This has gone too far!” Lu’s face blazed, partially from exertion but primarily from anger. If flames had shot out of her nose I wouldn’t have been surprised. “It’s one thing for Burton to let you go, but criminal charges? I’m calling the DOJ right now and giving Troy Kerr a piece of my mind.” With that she climbed off her bike and stormed to the locker room.
I continued to pedal as if my life depended on it, all the while praying Lu could convince Kerr he was off base.
The Lobo returned two minutes later, her scowl telling me she’d been unsuccessful. “Got his damn voice mail.” She climbed back onto the bike.
“By the way,” Carl said, addressing Lu now, “how did the interview go?”
Lu shot him a look before glancing my way.
It didn’t take long for me to put two and two together. “You’re interviewing for my replacement?”
Lu waved a dismissive hand. “I started collecting résumés weeks ago.”
“But you didn’t have an open position until I left.”
She couldn’t deny the truth. “Tara, you know better than anyone how overworked my special agents are. I can’t leave a position open indefinitely.”
I couldn’t take any more. I’d only made it halfway up the imaginary mountain, but my Tour de France was fini.
I snatched my water bottle from the holder, grabbed my towel, and hopped off the bike, heading for the locker room.
Lu leaped off her bike and hurried after me. “Tara! Hold up.”
I’d retrieved my bag and was halfway out the main door when the attendant at the front desk called out to me, “Hey! That’s our towel!”
I looked down at the white towel gripped in my fist, returned to the foyer, and tossed it into the bin.
Lu caught up with me and grabbed me by the shoulders. “I’m going to fight as hard as I can for you. You know that, right?”
I did know it. But I also knew that her efforts were likely to be futile.
Hot tears welled up in my eyes. The Lobo pulled me to her, and I melted against her, my head resting against her ample bosom while I sobbed and she patted my back and issued soothing sounds. We must have stood there for five minutes until I was all cried out. I knew nothing had been accomplished with my tears, but I felt better nonetheless. Embarrassed, silly, and childish, but better.
“Look,” Lu said, releasing me as I straightened up. “I’m going to keep working on George Burton, but in the meantime I’ll see what I can do about finding you another job. A few people owe me favors. No guarantees, but I’ll do my best. Okay?”
“Thanks,” I spurted on a final sob, using my hand to brush my tears away.
“Done crying?” Lu asked, tilting her head and looking into my eyes.
“I guess so.” At least for now.
“Good. Because you need to buck up, girl. You’ve got some tough weeks ahead of you.”
chapter six
Let’s Roll
Nick texted me shortly after I arrived back home. Can I take U 2 dinner?
I texted him back. Hell yeah.
After the day I’d had, I needed a treat. Dinner and Nick would make two.
Nick arrived at seven. He’d changed out of his business clothes and into a pair of boots, faded Levi’s, and a western shirt, topping it off with his white cowboy hat and duster. He gave me a soft kiss. “How was your first day back at Martin and McGee?”
I closed the door behind him. “They refused to take me back.”
“What the hell? I thought the managing
partner had issued you an open invitation.”
“The invitation was revoked when I shot Don Geils.”
Nick’s eyes flashed with fury. “That’s bullshit.”
“Martin and McGee is the least of my problems right now.” I picked the civil lawsuit paperwork up from the coffee table where Henry lay chewing on the edge of the document. I handed it to Nick. “Don Geils is suing me for damages.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.” Nick’s eyes met mine before traveling down to the paperwork in his hand. He took a few seconds to read it, his hand fisting reflexively and crumpling the edge of the petition. “Ten million dollars? Geils got some fucking nerve. That bastard’s life ain’t worth a dime.”
“I got a call from an attorney at the DOJ, too. They’re considering excessive force charges against me.”
Nick’s jaw dropped, just as Lu’s had. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Lu says the attorney’s who’s coming after me is really tough.”
Alarm flashed in Nick’s eyes. “Which attorney is it?”
“Troy Kerr.”
“Dammit!” Nick spat. He glanced around as if looking for something to punch. Coming up short, he settled for crossing his arms over his chest. “He handled a couple cases for me a few years ago. The guy’s a pit bull.”
“Lu said the same thing.” Well, Lu had said the guy was a tiger, but cat or dog, it was clear the guy was a hard-hitting lawyer. I began to tremble again. “I’m screwed, aren’t I? Six ways from Sunday.”
Nick grabbed me by the shoulders, leaned in, and looked me in the eye. He spoke slowly and softly, but with absolute conviction. “You’ll get through this, Tara. We will get through this. Together.”
He pulled me to him and held on so tight I’d thought he’d crush me. I almost hoped he would.
After a moment, he released me and stepped back. “At least we have our trips to look forward to.”
“I can’t go. Kerr said he’d get an injunction to keep me from leaving the U.S. if I didn’t voluntarily agree to stay here.”
“That’s bullshit!” Nick’s nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed. “Kerr will be sorry he ever did this to you. Mark my words.”
I hoped Nick was right.
A half hour later, the two of us sat side by side at a sushi bar a few blocks away. Since I wouldn’t be able to go to Tokyo with Nick, I’d chosen Japanese food for dinner. Though Nick was primarily a meat-and-potatoes man, he didn’t protest.
Nick picked up the order sheet, butchering the names of the offerings. “Eebie? Eye-nari? What the heck is this stuff?”
“Shrimp and tofu,” I responded.
His lip quirked as he eyed the purple tentacle in the refrigerated case in front of us. “Is that thing staring at me an octopus?”
“Those are suckers, not eyes. Besides, you’ve had calamari. It’s the same thing.”
“No, it’s not,” Nick said. “Calamari is covered in batter and fried. The suction cups don’t show. Besides, calamari is cooked. Most of this stuff is raw. This isn’t dinner. This is bait.”
“Trust me.” I jotted our order on the sheet and handed it to the chef. “You’ll love it.”
Nick eyed the chef over the glass case. “Got any sushi made with fried catfish? Maybe some trout or bass?”
The chef laughed and pointed his knife at Nick. “You a funny man, mister redneck.”
Nick frowned and turned to me. “I’m not totally clueless about the Japanese culture. I watched that ‘Gangnam Style’ video.”
“You and a billion other people. Besides, that ‘Gangnam’ guy was Korean, not Japanese.”
The waitress arrived to take our drink order.
“Sake,” I told her. “And plenty of it.” Enough to make me forget that today had been the absolute number-one shittiest day of my life.
After the girl left, Nick said, “I suppose you’ll tell me I’m going to love sake, too.”
“No,” I said. “You’ll hate it. The stuff tastes like battery acid, but it’s strong.” I had two pending court trials and an unemployment situation that I needed to forget about, at least for a little while. A few cups of sake should take care of the problem.
The waitress returned with our sake, setting the decanter between us and placing a small cup in front of each of us. Nick picked up the decanter and filled the two small glasses.
I raised mine in toast. “Bottom’s up.”
Nick chugged the sake. Though I waited for him to cringe, he didn’t. Years of Tabasco sauce on his scrambled eggs had desensitized his throat and stomach. “Battery acid indeed,” he said, affecting a snobby tone and holding his cup aloft as if he were a wine connoisseur. “With undertones of rubbing alcohol and notes of wart remover.”
The sushi chef handed a large platter over the counter. I thanked him as I took it and set it on the bar between me and Nick.
Nick gestured to the platter. “What’s the pink and green stuff?”
“The pink stuff is ginger.” I’d never liked it. Too much like eating cold, boiled flowers. “The green stuff is wasabi. Don’t use too much. It’s really hot.”
While I unwrapped the paper sleeve from my chopsticks, Nick opted for his fork, stabbing a blob of wasabi and maneuvering it on top of a piece of California roll.
“That’s too much,” I said.
“Nah.” He scooped up the piece and forked it into his mouth.
I waited for his face to contort in agony or his eyeballs to pop out, but he merely gave a little twitch of his nose and swallowed. “Not bad. It’s got a little kick to it.”
A little kick? The stuff could clear even the most stubbornly clogged sinuses. Then again, the guy had a cast-iron stomach that could even handle my father’s weapons-grade killer chili. A little wasabi was nothing compared to Dad’s caustic concoction.
When Nick and I’d finished the sushi, we topped off the meal with bowls of green tea ice cream.
“Mm-m.” The cold, creamy treat melted on my tongue. “I love this stuff.” Not only did it taste good, it also was full of antioxidants. Good thing. Three cups of sake had left me feeling pretty oxidated.
When the bill was settled, Nick and I headed back to his truck. “That raw fish wasn’t half-bad.”
“Told ya.”
chapter seven
You Get What You Pay for … Except When You Don’t
Nick pulled out of the parking lot and headed in the opposite direction from my home.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Cell phone store. The owner asked me and Eddie to come by at closing time so we wouldn’t disrupt his business.”
Nick was taking a risk here. Since I no longer worked for the IRS, he shouldn’t be letting me tag along. It was against policy. He could be reprimanded. Lu wouldn’t give a crap, but if anyone up the chain found out they wouldn’t be happy.
I reached over and gave his thigh an affectionate squeeze. “Thanks for taking me along.”
Nick cut a meaningful glance in my direction. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
His words caused a warmth to spread through me, not unlike the earlier burn of the sake but much more pleasant.
A half hour later, we pulled up to a small store in a strip center off I-30. A sign over the doors of one of the shops read: “Westside Wireless.” A smaller sign in the window indicated that the place sold both wireless phones and accessories.
Nick glanced over at another car in the lot, a plain white Ford sedan, clearly government issue. A fortyish Asian man with a head of salt-and-pepper hair sat behind the wheel.
“Is that Agent Tanaka?” I asked Nick.
“Yup.” Nick raised a hand in greeting.
I’d spoken with the ICE agent by phone when I’d been assigned the case. He’d been wrapping up another investigation at the time but indicated he’d be ready to proceed on this case soon. Looked like soon had become now.
Agent Tanaka opened his door and climbed out. Nick did the same. I followed suit.
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As we made our way to the sidewalk, Eddie Bardin pulled into the lot. Like Nick, Eddie was a senior special agent at IRS Criminal Investigations. He’d been both my mentor and my partner on numerous cases, teaching me the ropes. Too bad I’d become hopelessly entangled in those ropes.
Eddie stepped out of his car. He was tall, thin, and black, a conservative family man who was more Lacoste than LeBron. He was also a savvy, stellar agent. With his experience and my weapons skills, we’d made an unbeatable team. I missed working with him.
The four of us met on the sidewalk in front of the store.
After Nick and Eddie shook hands with Tanaka, Nick introduced me. “This is Tara Holloway.”
Not Special Agent Holloway. I was a civilian now, title-less. Well, I was still the beer-chugging champ from my college dorm, but that was years ago and a half-dozen other girls had since won the annual award.
“Katsumi Tanaka.” Tanaka spoke with neither a Japanese nor a southern accent, a clear indicator he’d practiced his English as a child. He looked me in the eye. “Agent Pratt told me what happened. Tough break.”
As much as I hated my shame to be spread about publicly, the shooting was public knowledge thanks to the news reports and I knew Nick had to give the guy an explanation as to why the case had been reassigned from me to him. I couldn’t fault Nick for that. He’d also have to explain why an agent who had been terminated from the IRS was along for the ride tonight.
“How many men did you kill at that bar?” Tanaka asked. “Six? Seven?”
“None,” I said on a sake-scented sigh.
Nick cut his gaze my way before turning back to Tanaka. “Tara has been assisting with the transition of her cases. I figured it couldn’t hurt for her to listen in tonight in case she has any ideas we don’t.”
Tanaka raised his palms. “No problem here. We can use all the help we can get. Tokyo Discount Telecom is hitting the industry hard. Complaints were recently filed with ICE in Los Angeles, Chicago, Miami, and a dozen other cities about counterfeit phones.”
Nick raised a brow. “So this case may be even bigger than we thought.”
Tanaka nodded. “In the millions of dollars already. Problem is, none of the victims can give us a good lead on anyone here in the states. A victim in Miami said the truck that delivered the phones to his shop had Texas plates, but that’s all he could tell me.”
