She squeezed his arm. “Nonsense. You’re the best agent I’ve got. Why are you saying that?”
“This is a young man’s game. Tank, Bass. They can handle the tension.” He rubbed his free hand against his belly. “This is giving me an ulcer.” He looked up the beach where Bambi and the frat boys were having their bonfire. “It’s waiting and more waiting and then action. I don’t know. Gwen might be right. It might be time for both of us to retire and head some place quiet.”
“You’re not even fifty-five, Radar. You can’t retired yet. Besides I need you. Your team needs you. Who am I going to hand the Ghost Squad over to?” She looked out at the ocean again. “Besides, don’t you love coming to all these exotic locales? I think I’m missing out, staying behind in San Francisco.”
He smiled at her, then motioned a short distance up the beach where there were some lounge chairs. It would put them near Bambi, but not too close to be suspicious. “You’re a good SAC, Rosa. I haven’t told you that enough. You’re fair and even tempered. I enjoy working for you.”
She knew the previous SAC had been difficult. He hadn’t trusted his people, he’d always second guessed their decisions, and for someone like Radar, who should have probably been a SAC himself, it rankled. She’d been determined to trust her people and their decisions until they’d proven otherwise.
They took seats on the loungers. Rosa glanced over to where she could see the gleam of Bambi’s blond head. The frat boys were passing a bottle of tequila around and laughing loudly. Bambi acted like she was one of them, laughing just as loud and passing the bottle, but Rosa hadn’t actually seen her drink anything so far.
“Why didn’t you apply for the SAC position when it came open, Radar?” she said, glancing over at him.
He shook his head, folding his hands on his belly. “It’s not my thing.”
“Why?”
He met her look, then rubbed a hand over his square chin. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Sarge, please.”
“I won’t.”
“I don’t like sending people into danger. The fact that Brooks is out there tonight without us at her back has me in knots. I hate it.”
She absorbed that. Did it say something about her that she didn’t have a problem doing that? Not that she wouldn’t do anything to protect her people if necessary. She would go to any lengths necessary to make sure they were safe, but she didn’t agonize over sending them on missions. For instance, she trusted Brooks to keep her head in a tense situation and she trusted Bass to have her back. Beyond that, what more could she do?
“A good SAC has to send her people wherever they’re needed and she has to know they’ll handle themselves. That’s why you’re a good SAC, much better than I’d ever be.”
She nodded, thinking. “I protect my people,” she said, trying not to sound defensive. “I mean I try not to send people someplace that I feel will be unduly dangerous.”
“I know that.”
“I always ask myself if I’d be willing to go into that situation before I send you. If I feel like I wouldn’t make it back, then I’d insist we not take the case.”
Radar touched her arm. “Rosa, stop. I know that. That’s why I supported your application for SAC. There’s no one else I’d rather serve under. I know you protect us. I know you’d never send us some place where it’s too unpredictable.”
She looked back at the bonfire. “Losing Joe has shaken me up a little. And the way he went. I just can’t stop thinking about it.”
“We’re going to get his killer, Sarge. I promise you. I don’t intend to leave until we do.”
She smiled at him. “I appreciate that, Radar.”
“We lost him,” came Bass’ voice over the com. “Brooks laid it all down, but he slipped off the hook. We’re headed back.”
Rosa grimaced and looked away.
“Don’t give up,” said Radar. “We’ll get a break. I know it.”
She nodded, but she wasn’t sure. Bass seemed so certain that Miguel was the drug connection and she knew how good Brooks was. If she couldn’t hook him, then what the hell were they going to do?
Suddenly, the frat boys jumped to their feet and raced toward the water, shoving and pushing each other to see who would make it first. A few girls raced after them. When they reached the ocean, they leaped into the surf, swimming away from the shore. Bambi lingered behind.
“I’m going back to base,” she said into her wrist. “Have Vega meet me there.”
“Roger that,” came Bass’ voice.
“Sarge, I’m going to walk alone. I don’t want to blow my cover,” she added.
“Roger that,” said Rosa into her own link, then she and Radar exchanged a look as Bambi started walking away from the beach by herself.
“She’s got something,” said Radar.
Rosa curled her hands around the lounger’s arms. She wanted to follow Bambi immediately, but she knew they had to preserve her cover. In the ocean, the college students were screaming and splashing each other. They didn’t seem to notice that Bambi had left them.
When they’d determined enough time had passed, Radar and Rosa climbed to their feet. Rosa again took Radar’s arm as they strolled leisurely toward the hotel. When they got back to Tank’s room, Bass, Vega and Brooks had returned. Bambi stood by Tank, while he looked at something in a small petri dish with a magnifying glass.
“What’s going on?”
Bambi turned toward Rosa. “Brett passed these out to everyone before they went into the ocean.” She pointed to the oblong white pill on the dish. “I told him I wanted to share it with my friend, that I was going back to the hotel to find her. I said Peyton and I promised to meet up later and party. He told me it was fine as long as I promised to party with him tomorrow night.”
Vega shifted weight. “Did he tell you…uh…” He motioned to Bass. “¿Donde obtuvo los medicamentos?”
“Where he got the pills?” translated Bass.
She shook her head. “He told me not to worry my pretty little head about it. He’d get more for tomorrow night.”
“He says nada about el traficante?”
Bambi looked to Bass.
“About the dealer, the trafficker?”
“He wouldn’t tell me. He said he’d promised not to reveal his source.”
Vega slapped a hand against his thigh.
“Are there any markings on the pill? What do you think, Tank?” asked Rosa.
“It looks just like a prescription hydrocodone pill. It has the same M367 identifier stamped on it of hydrocodone. Same size, same color. I wouldn’t know the difference if I saw it.” He looked at Vega. “Can your lab test it for fentanyl?”
“Sí, we will test it. I will bring the results tomorrow. I’ll, how you say, put a rush on it.” He looked at Bass. “Esta es una mala noticia. Se propaga muy rápido.”
Bass nodded. “Y todavía no sabemos nada.”
Tank put the pill in an evidence bag and handed it to Vega.
Vega took it, giving them a grim look. “Nos vemos más tarde,” he said, patting Bass on the shoulder. “Buenas noches.”
“Buenas noches,” they all said together.
“I’ll walk out with you, Federico,” said Bass. “Good night, everyone.”
As soon as they were gone, Rosa turned to Radar. “What did they say to each other?”
“This is bad news. It spreads very fast.”
“It? The drugs?”
“I think so.”
“And what did Bass say?”
“We still know nothing.”
* * *
Marco fed Pickles, washed a few dishes, then walked the little dog down to the driveway. With his crutches, it was too hard to take Pickles for the walks Peyton usually did. Maybe he should have Jake come over and give the little dog a proper walk. He was looking a little pudgy around the middle.
Pickles did his business and gave Marco a sad eyed look. Marco sighed. He’d been gone so much lately, and with Peyton out
of town, he knew Pickles was lonely. He started to crutch back into the house, but decided Pickles could go to work with him.
He was just going to check in on things at the precinct, then head over to his mother’s house for their usual Sunday dinner. He opened the Charger’s door and awkwardly bent down, picking the little dog up and depositing him inside.
Pickles hopped over to the passenger seat and wagged his tail happily. Marco eased the crutches inside, then slid in behind the wheel, pulling his bad leg in last. Joyce mentioned on Friday that he might be able to put weight on the leg in a few days. He was so ready to be done with the crutches.
“Let’s go to work,” he told the little dog, stroking a hand over his head, then he started the car and drove into the precinct.
As he crutched his way across the parking lot, he met Danté coming in. The young man smiled, reaching down to stroke Pickles’ head. Pickles’ tail wagged like a propeller.
“Hey, Captain,” Danté said. “Cool dog.”
“He’s Peyton’s best buddy.”
Danté nodded, jogging up the last of the steps and pulling open the precinct door. “I guess he didn’t want to stay home on a Sunday, huh?”
Marco felt a little silly. He’d always thought large men and tiny dogs looked ridiculous, but Pickles was lonely at the house. “I’m going to my parents’ house for dinner and I have about a billion nieces and nephews. They love dogs.”
“Got it.” He held the door for Marco to go through.
“Why are you here?”
“Bartlet and Smith both have the day off. I thought I’d come in and process some of the contacts we made. Inspector Simons said he’d meet me here. Inspector Cho is busy doing last minute wedding things.”
“You know you can just call them Simons and Cho or Bill and Nate, right, Danté?” Marco said, crutching through the half door toward his office.
“I’d feel disrespectful, Captain.”
Simons came around the corner, carrying a mug of coffee. “Hey, Captain. Want some joe.”
“No, I drank way too many cups this morning,” he said. “Danté told me the two of you are going to go over your contacts from yesterday’s barbecue. Does anything look promising?”
“Some. We found an old lady who was washing clothes in the laundromat a few doors down from where Jamaad was shot. She remembered a partial plate. I’m gonna run that and see if I get a hit,” said Simons.
“Good. Anything else?”
“Someone mentioned to Tag that a couple members of the Big Block gang hang out at the Stop and Rob on the corner. They’re the gang most active in the area.”
“Did this person think they might be responsible?”
“Tag said the guy mentioned that a rival gang is trying to push into the area. They call themselves the Mainline Gang.”
“How big are they?”
“Her source didn’t know. When she tried to get the guy’s name, he bolted.”
“Mainline just started moving into Hunters Point. If they run up against the Big Block, that could mean problems,” said Danté. “When Inspector Cho and I walked the neighborhoods, a number of people mentioned being worried about a gang war breaking out.”
Marco braced himself against the front counter. “Did you get any information that Jamaad Jones was part of either gang? Talking to anyone about joining, anything?”
“Everyone said he avoided them. He went to school, went to the animal shelter, and came home,” said Danté.
“Once in a while, he played street ball, but that was it,” said Simons. “His mom kept a tight leash on him and his brother. The kid never even served detention at school.”
“Inspector Simons is right.”
“Could someone have approached him about the gang while playing ball?”
“No one mentioned anything,” said Danté.
“Okay, go through your contacts and let me know if you find anything.”
They both nodded.
“Go on back to my desk,” Simons told the young man. “I’ll be there in a moment.”
“Sure.” Danté headed to the back without questioning Simons. Marco liked that he could follow an order.
Simons watched him go, then faced Marco again. “He’s a damn good cop already, Captain, and smart.”
“I know. He has a photographic memory, Bill. He’s really an asset to us.”
“But a kid like that isn’t going to last long as a street cop, Captain.”
Marco felt a frisson of dread. He didn’t like the direction the topic had taken. “Don’t start in about retirement.”
“I’m not. Silvia and I talked it over. With Bobby a senior next year, we’ve got college to think about. I can’t retire, but I could be promoted.”
Marco tilted his head. “I’m listening.”
Simons glanced over his shoulder. “Nate and the kid get along. Nate’s a damn good cop and he’d be perfect for training the kid. I know it’s too soon. Shit, the kids still wet behind the ears, but eventually, maybe you could make me a lieutenant and have the kid take the test to become an inspector.”
Marco smiled. “Have you talked this over with Nate?”
“Yeah, he agreed. He’s not ready to push papers yet. He still likes being on a case, but…” Simons looked down at Pickles, then reached down and picked up the little dog, rubbing his ear. “I think I might be.”
“How long are we talking about waiting?”
“What about six months? I’ll feel better that the kid’s cut out for this line of work by then.”
Marco nodded. “Okay, I’ll agree to that, as long as you don’t talk about retiring on me anymore.”
“Deal.”
* * *
Marco created a bed for Pickles out of a box that paper came inside by cutting a door in the front of it and lining it with a towel he’d found in the storage room. Pickles happily curled up inside of it and took a nap, while Marco answered some emails and made some inquiries on his own.
An hour later Devan Adams appeared in his doorway, wearing khaki pants, a polo shirt, and a white baseball cap that said The Olympic Club. He carried a pair of gloves in one hand and plopped down into the chair across from Marco with a weary sigh.
“It’s hard being you, isn’t it, Adams? Golf on Sunday at The Olympic Club. Were you forced to have the duck buns in plum sauce?”
“I had the crab sandwich.” He stretched his legs out and folded his hands on his belly, clasping the gloves between them, then he looked over at Pickles who ignored him and went on sleeping. “Why’s he here?”
Marco didn’t want to tell Devan that he suspected Pickles was lonely. “My nieces and nephews want to see him at dinner this afternoon.”
Devan gave him a skeptical look. “Can’t you at least buy him a decent bed?”
“No, I don’t have lunch at The Olympic Club after 18 holes.”
“Do you know who I played those 18 holes with?”
“The governor?”
“Close, the mayor and his son Paul, and Norris Barber.”
“The spin doctor?”
“That’s the one.”
“And?”
“Osborn told me about the barbecue for Jamaad Jones yesterday.”
“Yeah.”
“Any leads?”
“Maybe. Simons and Price are looking at the information they gathered yesterday.”
“Price, the new kid?”
“That’s the one.” Marco swung his chair around and picked up a pen on his blotter. “You get any information from the mayor?”
Devan slapped his gloves against his hand. “Just that Barber asked me what we’d found out about Lowell Murphy’s death. I said I didn’t have much to tell. He said he thought Kurt Foster, Murphy’s roommate, had been arrested for it. When I said Foster had an alibi, Barber wanted to know if we had any other suspects. I said we were working on a few possibilities.”
“And?” Marco tapped the pen on the desk.
“Osborn got visibly upset and wa
lked away, got into the golf cart and ordered his caddy to drive to the next hole. Paul, the mayor’s son, hurried after him, but Barber stayed behind. Have you met Osborn’s son?”
“He came with Osborn to the barbecue. What’s he do for a living?”
“He’s an attorney. Corporate law, I believe. Anyway…” Devan smacked the gloves some more. “Barber asked me to drop the conversation. He said Osborn only gets one day a week to unwind and he doesn’t want that taken from him.”
Marco frowned. “Interesting. He’s the one who brought it up.”
“I thought the same thing. Then why the hell bring it up if you want me to drop it?”
“No idea. Sounds strange.”
“He said he especially didn’t want me talking about it in front of Paul.”
“Why? What difference does that make?” asked Marco.
“Do you suppose Sonny Boy knows something of Daddy’s predilections?”
“How? I thought Osborn kept his predilections secret.”
“Are they though?”
Marco shrugged. “Maybe we should take a look at Barber. Why’d he want to know about the case? Why bring it up at all, and then ask you not to talk about it?”
“Osborn’s his bread and butter. He might not want him creating a scandal that would deny them the governorship. Maybe he was hoping we’d actually arrested Kurt Foster.”
Marco made a note on his legal pad. Check Norris Barber for a gun license. “I’ll have Tag and Holmes look into Barber.”
Devan pushed himself out of the chair. “Well, I gotta go home and shower. Rani wants to look at houses. She says my condo’s too small for the family.”
Marco smiled. “She wants the white picket fence, eh?”
Devan wearily shook his head. “I don’t know, but when I questioned why we needed more room when Amira can still be carried in a backpack, it didn’t go so well.”
Marco laughed. “I can imagine.”
Devan glanced at Pickles again. “Come on, D’Angelo. Get the mutt something better to sleep in or I’m gonna have to rat you out to Peyton.”
Marco looked over at Pickles who seemed perfectly content. “Seriously? Do you have any idea how many points I just racked up by taking the fuzz ball to work with me? Don’t even try, Adams. Clearly you’re an amateur in the romance department, while I’m a stone cold professional. We ain’t even playing in the same league.”
Mayan Gods in the Yucatan (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 5) Page 31