by Bobby Nash
Jacks felt a sting of embarrassment on her cheeks. “And now you sell them coffee and croissants?”
“Well, everybody’s got to eat," Aunt Al said good-natured. "At least in here they know there’s someone who understands. Sometimes I’m more like a bartender than a cafe owner.”
“You’ve got a lovely place,” Jacks offered.
“Thanks.”
A small electronic bell announced a new group of arrivals as the door opened. “Good morning, gentlemen,” Aunt Al said with the same goodhearted smile she had given them. “Take a seat anywhere and I’ll be right with you.”
Jacks recognized a few of the newcomers as some of the gawkers from the crime scene. They gave the two women a look as they entered, but said nothing. It was just as well. Jacks had no intention of giving them any details until her boss cleared the report.
“Do you ladies know what you’d like or do you need a few minutes with the menus?”
“I’ll take the Sammy Special, Al.”
“No shocker there. Have you ever tried anything else on the menu, child?”
“Hey, it’s not everyday you have a special named after you. I feel it is my responsibility to order it every chance I get.” The two women laughed and Jacks felt very much like an outsider, but she was too tired to really care.
“Make that two.”
“Alright then. Two Sammy Specials coming up.” She tapped the coffeepot with her fingernail. “I’ll leave the pot too.”
“Thanks, Al,” Sam said as the restaurateur moved down the aisle to check in on the new arrivals.
“Aunt Al?” Jacks asked.
“My mother’s sister. I used to work summers here when I was a kid. I think some of Al’s stories are what me want to go into The Service.”
“I’ve always been curious about that. What makes a person want to jump in front of a bullet for someone else? I don’t know if I could make that kind of decision.”
Sam sipped her coffee. “Would you take a bullet for your partner, uh… shit, sorry, what’s his name?” She motioned with her hand as if she trying to pull the name out of thin air.
“Mel.”
“Mel. Yeah. Sorry, but I’m terrible with names.”
“No problem. It sometimes takes me awhile too.”
“So, your partner, would you take a bullet for him?”
“Sure,” Jacks answered. “He’s my partner. I know he’d do the same for me. You think Montgomery would return the favor for you?”
It was an honest question and one she had heard asked before. Sam knew that Jacks wasn’t being facetious. It was purely curiosity on her part. Or she was sizing up her new friend.
Sam laughed. “Probably not, but that’s beside the point.”
“What makes you want to put yourself in front of a bullet?”
“Want has nothing to do with it,” Sam said matter of fact. “The Presidency is a position of respect and has to be protected. If I have to jump in front of a bullet to protect a guy who is essentially the leader of the free world, then I’m willing to do it. It’s about safeguarding the position, if not necessarily the person.”
“Maybe you’re just braver than the rest of us,” Jacks joked.
“Or crazier.”
The detective stopped in mid sip and looked across the rim of her cup at the Secret Service Agent. A silent question passed between them.
“No,” Sam answered, smiling lopsidedly. “I’m not crazy. Well, no more so than anyone else in law enforcement. You have to be a little off center to do half the things we do, you know?”
“Yeah. No sane individual voluntarily walks into a room with a skeeved out drug addict with a gun and a hostage. I’ve done that twice this year alone.”
“See? There you go. I guess the old cliche is true. You don’t have to be crazy to work here,” she began.
“But it helps,” Jacks finished with a smile. She was starting to like Agent Patterson. A refreshing change from most Federal Agents she had met. Her past encounters with federal agents were a lot less cordial. Most tended to look down on her, whether because she a lowly homicide detective or maybe it was simply because she was a woman. Either way, the condescension usually set her off.
“Exactly.”
“Did your insanity have anything to do with you losing your position?
Samantha stopped. A look of longing passed over her face as she placed the coffee cup back on the table.
“No,” she said quietly. “That was arrogance. Let’s just say I’m a little more cautious these days. I don’t want Corwin banishing me back to the basement again. Once, they let you try to crawl back out of the hole you dug for yourself. Twice, they bury you in it.”
“Is this your first investigation since returning?”
“Yeah. Although technically, Corwin’s running and I’m assisting.”
“And Corwin, what’s his deal?”
“He and I were assigned to the same detail several years ago and made the transition to investigations at roughly the same time.” She hesitated slightly. “Then I went and did something stupid and got dropped kicked to the lowest rung on the ladder for it.”
“And Corwin kept moving up the ladder.”
“Something like that. He’s a good little Yes Man. He knows which way the wind’s blowing and hoists his sail accordingly. If I were more like him and a little less opinionated, things might have gone a little better for me. Maybe.”
“But now you’re back in investigations?”
“Yeah.”
“How long you been back?”
“What’s today?”
“Sunday.”
“Ah, so…” she paused as if doing complex math in her head. “Two days.”
Whatever answer Jacks had expected to hear, that wasn’t it. “Oh, that’s just great, a rookie,” she said as she took another sip of coffee.
Samantha laughed at the homicide detective’s discomfort.
“I’m hardly a rookie. Look, Corwin may be many things, but stupid he ain’t. He knows I’ve got it all over him when it comes to analysis and putting the pieces together. He’s willing to give me leverage so long as I get results and make him look good.”
“Did you ever think,” Jacks asked, “that he may be giving you just enough rope to hang yourself?”
“Oh, yeah,” Sam nodded. “Yeah, that thought has definitely crossed my mind, but there's really not much I can do about that right now. My job is to solve this puzzle. For that, I’m going to need help.”
“What kind of help?”
“Yours to be specific.”
“You care to elaborate, or should I hazard a guess?”
“I was thinking of something radical like sharing information. Maybe even a little teamwork.”
Jacks smiled, took another sip of her coffee.
“Now you know that never works.”
“Which is why I’m going to go out on a limb and share first. If Corwin objects, well there’s not really too much he can do about it, is there?”
“You mean besides banishing you back down to the basement?”
“Exactly.”
Before either woman could elaborate further, Ally returned with their breakfast. “Here you go, ladies. Two Sammy Specials.”
“Smells delicious.”
“Aunt Al is a wizard in the kitchen. Trust me, Catherine, you’re gonna love this.”
“Thanks. And please, Sam, my friends call me Jacks.”
eighteen
Langley, Virginia
Sunday
The Controller watched as the two women ate their breakfast.
They sat in their booth so nonchalantly as they chit-chatted in that girly way two women always managed to do when they got together, even if they were total strangers, just introduced. It didn’t matter that these two had just met. If he did not know better, he might have mistaken them for old friends.
Must be a woman thing, he mused.
It was yet another reason on a long list of reasons wh
y he would never understand the female of the species. They were just so damned strange. The thought of carrying on a conversation with people he knew was akin to torture. He could not foresee too many plausible scenarios that would lead him to carry on a lengthy, in-depth conversation with a total stranger. Despite her chatterbox nature, he had to admit that his quarry was quite good. There was definitely more to Detective Catherine Jackson than he had first suspected. Beneath her attractive exterior there was a vibrant intelligence. Perhaps, if there was someone out there who could hold their own in a conversation with him, it was her.
Finally, he thought. A worthy opponent.
He knew he had chosen well.
The Controller found himself rather impressed with how she and her pudgy partner had handled those uppity federal agent sons-a-bitches at the crime scene the night before. He had never liked those feebies who thought their shit didn’t stink. None of them were as smart as they liked to believe, certainly not on the same level as he or Detective Jackson. From what he had seen, they tended to make things far more complicated than they needed to be, often to the detriment of their own investigation. He had rarely ever met a federal agent he didn’t take an instant disliking to and he had met more than his fair share.
That’s what happens when you think you know everything. Bastards.
Playing with them wasn’t nearly as much fun as it used to be. He missed the good old days when the Feds were big bruisers with a lot of gumption and the brawn to back it up, but only pea-sized brains. They were so easy to manipulate, but they also had their uses. Yeah, he missed those days.
The new face of the FBI, CIA, Secret Service, NSA, and every other Federal Agency with three letters or more consisted of nerdy college kids who never got laid in college. Now everything was computerized. The federal police agencies were little more than high tech arcades. DNA sequencing, computer models, and psychoanalysis were the tools the new breed of law enforcement used. And thanks to the popularity of those damned CSI-- another damned three lettered word designation, dammit --television shows, there seemed to be no end in sight.
He missed the agents who relied on their guts and their fists. Those guys, yes, those guys were many things, but most importantly they were a challenge, something the Controller had gone without for quite some time.
Still, there were one or two government agents that The Controller planned to look up sooner or later, the pick of the litter, so to speak. Those few were a rarity among their peers because they could think for themselves. A reckoning was due for past misdeeds. There were accounts that had yet to be settled.
Past sins that still demanded atonement.
But that was for later. For now, The Controller thought he might have finally found a worthy adversary in Catherine Jackson. Surprisingly, his newest opponent was a woman and not even a federal agent, but just a lowly homicide detective. Never in his wildest imagination would he have seen that eventuality coming. In fact, he was still finding the concept difficult to swallow.
But the Controller knew he had chosen well and was looking forward to the challenge. There were so few true challenges in life these days. And what was life without a little challenge? Dull, that's what. That's why he had been giddy since writing the letter he now held in his gloved hand. It was all he could do not to cackle like a mad man as he contemplated delivering it in person. It was tempting, but foolish, and he had not come so far by being foolish.
It was a risk coming out to the crime scene and now to the diner for some in person reconnaissance. A part of him understood that putting himself this close to the investigation was a risk he didn’t really need to take, but there was something invigorating about the hands-on approach. It made him feel more alive than he had in a long time. Getting this close to his quarry was a calculated gamble, but the game demanded the personal connection.
He had milled around with the other feds outside of the cordon set up by the DC Metro Police Department. It was all he could do not to cackle like a madman at the indignant grousing he heard in that group. When the onlookers began to thin out with the coming of the morning sun, he stayed with them, following them to the diner where he ordered a hearty breakfast of steak and eggs, the yolks still runny so he could soak up the yellow goodness with his toast.
He understood the unnecessary risk he was taking by being in the midst of the vipers in their den, but he had to admit that he was having a ball. As much as he loved his work, the excitement he felt while sitting just a few feet from all of the armed federal operatives. Whether they knew it or not, each of them was looking for him. He smiled at the thought, but quickly hid it. Taking a risk was one thing, but he knew better than to be stupid and draw attention to himself.
The diner was little more than a greasy spoon, although he grudgingly acknowledged that it was far cleaner than most similar dives he had frequented in his travels. The all- pervasive hint of grease off the fryer did not tinge the air or the seats, which was something of a major accomplishment in and of itself.
The owner must be a neat freak, he thought.
And, surprisingly, the food’s not half bad either.
For all the times he had driven past this place, he regretted never having stopped in for a bite to eat. Like everyone else, he had made the mistake of presumption. He had judged the diner by its outward appearance instead of taking a closer look. He decided, once this was all over, to stop in again and sample another one of the intriguing menu items.
The Controller felt his pulse racing the longer he sat there, surrounded by his enemies as they stuffed their faces only a handful of feet away. He had never felt so bold as he did at that moment. The sensation was intoxicating.
His pulse quickened.
Calm down, he chided himself.
He was afraid Detective Jackson might hear the pounding thump! thump! thump! of his heart from across the room, but so far she had not even so much as glanced in his direction. He might have been invisible for all of the attention anyone was paying him.
He watched as she sneaked the occasional glance around the room every so often. At first, he thought she was looking for him. Does she know I’m here? he wondered. Does she somehow sense my presence? But no, he quickly realized that that was not the case at all. Had he not been paying extra close attention to the detective, even The Controller might not have noticed what she was doing. She was that subtle.
Detective Jackson was watching everyone and everything.
It wasn’t just the patrons but also her surroundings. She took in the room. It was a good reflex for a lowly little police detective -and a woman no less- to have, especially in the midst of all of these uptight federal assholes, the majority of who were men. Men who were no doubt threatened by a smart, intelligent woman. Was she after their jobs? Did they fear her?
It truly was like unto a pit of vipers.
Perhaps even more so for her than it was for him.
He wondered for a moment if she had noticed him. Had she caught the stranger watching her? Would she remember him when they met later? Surely a woman of the detective’s beauty was not unaccustomed to men staring at her. The Controller felt a chill run up his spine at the excitement of it all. Revenge had its place, but there was something to be said about the thrill of the chase. It felt not dissimilar to the blossoming heat of a new romance. He appreciated the similarities and wondered if, in the end, she would do so as well. He hoped so.
Detective Jackson would be fun, he knew. He actually admired the detective. The dossier he had compiled on her had been fascinating reading. It was hard not to be impressed by this glorious woman. Even now, here, she was but a little fish trespassing in the Feds’ big ol’ pond and she could give a shit what those uptight bureaucrats thought about it. He knew that the moment he watched her step inside the diner as if she belonged there. And she did. She owned the room.
She's got balls, I'll give her that, the Controller thought as he wiped his lips with a paper napkin. He almost thought he could see the steam c
oming from beneath some of the men's collars while the detective remained as cool as a cucumber in spite of being surrounded by these fools who wanted to see her fail.
The Feds did not seem to like her presence one bit.
That fact only endured her to The Controller more so than before.
Nor did they care much for her personally, for that matter. Oh, sure, he imagined that most of the men seated around the diner would’ve given their right arm for a chance to fuck her, and who could blame them. She was a very attractive and powerful woman. If given the chance, The Controller would offer to give her the best night of her life just like the others. The difference was, however, that the men who kept sneaking wayward glances at her were only focused on one aspect of Catherine Jackson, what was on the outside. They were only looking at her physical presence.
What they didn’t - or couldn’t - notice was the power that radiated from her.
It was that power that attracted her to him even more than her physical beauty.
The feeling of distrust was obviously mutual on Detective Jackson’s side as well. The Controller watched as she kept a discreet eye on the small cluster of agents that had come in not long after she and her new friend sat down. It was tense, but he could see in her face that she did not trust anyone in the room. He wondered if she even trusted the woman sitting across from her. Both sides pretended to ignore the other, the men shaking their head as they walked in behind and saw her sitting there. They play-acted at being one “big happy family” but The Controller knew it was all an act. He had seen it before.
Apply the right amount of pressure and the family crumbled and they turned on one another.
He had seen it happen before.
Hell, he had made it happen before.
The lack of active conversation seemed somewhat oddly out of place in the diner, which should have been abuzz with activity. Not today. What conversation there was came in subdued tones and hushed whisper.
So far, The Controller was impressed with his choice of adversary. He knew he had picked the right competitor. Catherine Jackson was the perfect opponent for him. She was smart and, if one was to believe her file, quite a skilled detective.