I got stuck in the drunk tank overflow cell all by myself, but with the drunks only a row of steel bars away.
“Agent Whelan, we’ll be by in the morning to get more statements. Until then, get some rest.”
I never did get the agent’s name who checked me in. He leaned against the bars and spoke to me with respect. That’s when I knew for sure Blake had fed them a line of bullshit about me.
“And, ma’am, I’ve seen the agency office. It’s a miracle you made it out alive. We’re glad to have you with us still.”
I nodded my thanks. I didn’t dare open my mouth and screw it all up.
I tried to piece together what Blake told them about the case. All I could get is he said it wasn’t me who killed everyone. I’d be held as a material witness instead of a suspect in the crime. All that would change, I suspected, when they looked at the security tapes from the office. They’d see me shooting up the joint, then they’d see me on the tape in a different room. Then I’d have some serious explaining to do.
For the moment I was safe, like Blake wanted. Lucas wasn’t. That’s what I wanted.
It seemed like everyone went home or maybe back to the scene. They could all be out looking for hotel rooms because these were guys from another agency. I’d never seen any of them before and I knew first hand my office was all dead except for me and Blake. And lucky Hamilton down in Cabo.
It had to be late, or maybe it only felt late because I was so damn tired. Exhausted like I’d never been before. If I knew the agency (and I do) I’d be stuck down in the basement cell for days before they got their act together enough to transfer me or figure out what to charge me with. Anything I say about government bureaucracies and their tendencies toward slowness would be repetition.
The concrete floors, cinder block walls and rows of metal bars made the place feel even colder than it was. Florescent lights buzzed overhead showing no signs of turning off for the night. A lone cop sat at a desk what must have been fifty feet away, reading a magazine. Biding his time until he could get a transfer up and out of the dungeon. Only difference between me and him were the bars. He was just as stuck, though.
Plus, he was a cop. Not as bound to morality and good deeds as I seemed to be.
I stretched out on my cot listening to a drunk in the next cell moan and dry heave over the communal toilet. The three other guys in the cell ignored him, or maybe were passed out. They still call it a drunk tank but really it’s a holding cell for anyone they bring in on a good night. The guy retching fit the bill for a junkie coming down off a meth or heroin high. A blackout drunk would be comedically quaint in the big city today, like Otis on the Andy Griffith Show. (one of Daddy’s favorites.)
I closed my eyes, inviting sleep like a whore on a street corner. I’d have to wait.
WAITING ON A FRIEND
In the relative quiet and low lighting, with my eyes shut and my heart rate slowed to something resembling normal, I tuned in a crystal clear image of Sam’s eyesight. HD, baby. 16X9 letter-boxed. Cinemascope and 3-D.
Nothing else was on so I watched the show. I’d gotten used to the dull throb in my head when I listened in.
I recognized the building first. She’d gone to Calder and Rizzo’s condo. I doubted the boys had been back to the office building since the explosion. Big bangs like that do tend to bring around the cops and the scrutiny that comes with them. I already knew from Lucas that the boys were always one tiny misstep away from getting busted so the smart play was to clear out of an active crime scene. And Calder and Rizzo were smart, if nothing else.
She called the elevator, turned her/our eyes to the camera mounted above the doors and smiled. Satisfied, the elevator moved down. Calder and Rizzo never let up anyone they don’t know. My (our) face became my permanent passport up.
She stepped out and moved slowly. I expected maybe she would come out shooting. After all, it had been a long time since she killed someone and maybe her employers were next on her list. But she played it calm.
She submitted to a pat-down by two of the office guards. Burly Mexicans with long sideburns and slicked back hair like it came with the uniform.
Sam stepped into Calder and Rizzo’s place. I’d only been there once before and I could never tell if they lived together, next to each other, or just had this place for meetings and overnight stays. It seemed more remote office than comfy home. I watched from my jail cell. It felt like being fully awake for a dream.
She stood while the two brothers stayed sitting behind their twin desks. The two men who patted her down disappeared behind her, but I knew they were still in the room with hairy knuckles griped over waistband guns.
“You’ve been a busy girl,” Calder said.
We nodded our head.
“Not exactly discreet…” he added. She stared straight ahead. I wondered if she knew I was watching. “Normally we don’t like such vulgar displays, but it seems nothing has been traced back to you or to us.”
“Yet,” Rizzo said, letting the weight of the word settle over the room.
“And it won’t,” she said.
“I’d feel better about that if you stopped showing up here unannounced. Even in the best of times we are being watched. You should know better.”
“You told us,” Rizzo said and then laughed.
“I want half,” she said, cutting off his laughter.
“Half of what?” Calder asked.
“Half the money. Ten million.”
Calder seemed genuinely perplexed. “What for?”
“The job is half finished. More than half.”
“We’re not paying you for half.”
“Did you hear about the judge?” she said.
“Yes, we heard about the judge.”
“That will delay your case by at least a year.”
“We want it gone completely,” Rizzo said. “I don’t give a shit about a year or ten years. Ten million doesn’t buy you a year.”
“What about the DA?” Calder asked. “Your boyfriend.”
Fiancé!, I wanted to yell. “Shut up!” came from the cop at the desk. Guess I said it out loud after all.
For the first time Sam looked away, down at the floor. “He’s proving harder to find than I thought.”
“Look, Samantha, you’ve obviously been working hard out there. It’s impressive. None of our men could do the things you’ve done.” Calder and Rizzo exchanged a look. “Really, we didn’t know you were capable. And we didn’t really know what we were buying. This is a lot of attention.”
“Unwanted attention,” Rizzo added.
“You say it can’t be traced, then we believe you. But, we can’t make payment until the job is done. And the job isn’t done until the lawyer is dead.”