by G. K. Parks
“Fine,” Martin muttered.
“Okay,” Ryan replied, stepping into my kitchen and rummaging through the fridge, seeking some distance.
“What are you doing here?” I asked Martin.
“After last night, I was worried. I didn’t want you to stay by yourself.” He shot a look of disgust at Ryan. “Little did I know you weren’t by yourself, and he definitely won’t be part of our threesome.” He was hoping the joke would lighten the mood, but there was too much built up hostility for it to be effective. He ran his thumb across my cheek. “He’s the reason for your nightmares last night, isn’t he?” I looked away, knowing it was true but not wanting to admit it.
“Thanks for checking on me, but maybe now’s not a good time,” I murmured. Martin emitted a strange sound, prepared to protest, but Ryan shut the fridge door and faced us.
“Alex has offered to consult on my current case,” Ryan supplied. In my one bedroom apartment, privacy didn’t exist. “Since you’re together, you should join us for dinner.” Martin looked at me; it would have taken a crowbar to get him out of my apartment. “We’ve ordered plenty,” Ryan continued. At least he was trying.
Thankfully, Martin turned off his kill instinct and went with his business professional persona instead. Trying to find common ground, he and Ryan chitchatted about international trade, capitalism, the world economy, and hockey. I stared at the two of them, wondering how men did it. One minute, they were ready to fight, and the next, they were pals, at least superficially.
Dinner arrived twenty minutes late. The hibachi was cold, and the sushi was warm. No one complained. We ate in companionable silence. Or at least I hoped it was companionable silence and not Ryan plotting Martin’s death and vice versa. I glanced at my gun on the end table, regretting not putting it in a less accessible location. When we were finished, Martin went to the liquor cabinet and retrieved the bottle of scotch.
“Tell me about your case,” he insisted, finding two glasses and placing one in front of Ryan.
“I don’t think,” I interjected, but Ryan cut me off by giving a brief synopsis to Martin as the two sat drinking and assessing one another. Fifteen minutes later, I couldn’t take the competitiveness that hung in the air any longer. “Do I need to find a measuring tape, or can the two of you put those things away before someone gets hurt?” Martin looked sheepish, knowing exactly what he did. Ryan, on the other hand, appeared clueless. Maybe it was part of the language barrier.
Summoning Ryan to my computer, I wanted to get started on the work we needed to accomplish, even though Martin was still in my apartment. Normally, I tried to keep my work from him as much as possible. I hated to admit it, but O’Connell was right. Under these conditions, I probably should remove myself from the equation and let someone else help Ryan.
After providing a couple names and finding some basic information within the ICC and Interpol databases on the Camel, Ryan stood up. “I should get going. I’m still on Paris time. The officers downstairs will give me a ride to my hotel?” I nodded. “Alex,” he put his jacket on and went to the door, “you don’t have to do anything else. I’m capable of handling this situation on my own.”
“Tomorrow, I’m introducing you to Mark Jablonsky, and he’ll put you in contact with the right people.” Something occurred to me, and I narrowed my eyes. “Why don’t you have your own support team assisting?” Something was off, but he wouldn’t give me a straight answer with Martin still in the room.
“We’ll talk in the morning. Good night.” He waved and let himself out of my apartment. Going to the window, I watched him exit the building, tap on the patrol car’s window, and get in the back seat. At least he was taking advantage of his armed escort.
“Alexis,” Martin said my name, and I spun around to face him, “you can’t do this.” It sounded like an ultimatum.
“Despite your little act tonight, you’re not my protector, and I can do whatever I damn well please. You weren’t in Paris, so you don’t know what really happened. Ryan saved me, and he’s in a bind. Maybe I can help. Maybe I can’t. But you don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do.” I didn’t know where the ire came from, but he didn’t deserve it. Unfortunately, the words already left my mouth, and I didn’t feel like taking them back.
He glared at me, shooting daggers from his eyes. He looked away, fighting back whatever he wanted to say. Arguing wasn’t advisable at this particular moment, and he knew it. We didn’t have a submissive and dominant relationship. We were equal partners; even when one of us made an asinine decision, the other had to let it go. Instead, he swallowed another shot of scotch. “Fine, but I’m not leaving you alone tonight.”
My resolve shattered, and my harsh exterior cracked a dumb smile. “Thanks. I could use the company.” He snorted, as if to say ‘then why are you doing this’ but simply shook his head and poured another finger of scotch.
Eight
Martin hadn’t spoken a word since our brief exchange after Ryan’s departure. He was sitting on my couch, doing something with his phone. I suspected he was going over information for work, but maybe he was playing a game or searching for porn.
I stayed at my computer desk, reviewing the names and information that Ryan found earlier in the evening. There was still more to the story. The ICC was a major entity. They had countless resources and pull with other law enforcement agencies. The fact that Ryan was out in the cold didn’t bode well. Something was off, and I had no idea what it was.
Frustrated and angry, I clicked shut down and swiveled in the chair. “I don’t like fighting with you.”
Martin looked up from his phone, acknowledging me for the first time in hours. “But you’re still going to do what you want, regardless of what I think.” He put his phone on the coffee table. “You bust my balls about making unilateral decisions, but you do the exact same thing. Face it, sweetheart, the things that you don’t like about me are the qualities you see in yourself.” Apparently, telling him I didn’t want to fight meant he should start a fight. “Although, I’m sure you see this as none of my business.” I saw the pain in his eyes. “But need I remind you that I’m the one who holds you in the middle of the night when you wake up screaming and can’t catch your breath because you’re so panicked you’re hyperventilating.” His voice cracked, and he looked away.
“Martin.” I hated how much this affected him.
“You’re just like a junkie.” He turned back to me. “You can’t stop. The more dangerous it is, the faster you run toward it. This isn’t saving a friend’s kid or protecting someone you love. This is a goddamn serial killer, but you’ll find some way to involve yourself, more so than you already have. One of these days, it’s going to kill you, and Ryan’s failed to protect you before. He didn’t have your back then, so what happens if he doesn’t have it now?”
“I’ll take precautions. It’ll be okay.”
“And what if it’s not?” I didn’t have an answer. He got off the couch and washed his glass, leaving it in the drain. “I have an early morning. I’m going to sleep.”
“Go ahead. I’ll be in soon.”
I listened as he got ready for bed. We would be okay. I was determined to make that true. He knew what he was getting himself into, and for a little over a year, we managed to make it work. The problem was Ryan clued him, hoping it would mitigate my involvement. Telling Martin the details of my job was something I tried not to do. There had been a couple exceptions, but that wasn’t the norm. Maybe he was acting prematurely, assuming I would instigate myself into this case. It’s not like I had any reason or resources making me a useful candidate, but Martin was right. I was an addict. It was twisted and dangerous, and I couldn’t stop.
Eventually, I crawled into bed. He was facing the wall, and I worried how much more we could endure. He hadn’t been this close to a breaking point since my Paris case. Maybe Ryan’s presence opened old wounds for both of us. Or maybe it was my undercover make out sessions with Tommy that were thr
eatening to be the straw that broke the camel’s back. My internal voice snorted at the pathetic play on words.
Regardless of what it was, I couldn’t sleep. If I woke up because of a night terror, it would only reinforce his point. Instead, I stared at the ceiling, attempting to talk myself out of being so stubborn. It wasn’t working. Sometime during the course of the night, he rolled over and wrapped an arm around my waist, snuggling against me. I couldn’t lose him, and I couldn’t lose me. When did I become this pathetic?
The next morning, Martin’s alarm chimed, and he opened his eyes. He kissed my temple before climbing out of bed. I pretended to be asleep, not wanting to risk continuing the fight.
He spent a half hour running on my treadmill, followed by a shower, and then sifting through the single drawer and small portion of my closet that I gave him as a one year anniversary present. Opening my eyes, I watched as he stood in front of my mirror to knot his tie.
He caught my eye. “Maybe Ryan and I aren’t quite so different after all,” he said softly. I looked at him, confused and surprised, wondering if I was dreaming. “He was right yesterday. I’m just as guilty of putting you in harm’s way. When you worked for me, you were almost killed.” I opened my mouth to protest, but he shook his head. “Do what you have to. I’ll be here to pick up the pieces if that’s what you need,” he sounded defeated, resigned to accepting what was beyond his control. “As always, just be careful. I love you, and the thought of something happening to you is unfathomable.”
“Me too.” He came back to the bed and kissed me goodbye before leaving my apartment, assuming we wouldn’t see each other until the situation was resolved. My fear for his safety was one point I would never yield.
* * *
I slept for a little over four hours. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than nothing. Phoning ahead, I stopped to pick up Ryan, so I could personally escort him to the OIO. Mark Jablonsky, my friend and former boss, was waiting for us. Interpol’s liaison Patrick Farrell was in his office, and Ryan gave them the same information he had given me the previous night. Once everyone was up to speed, Farrell escorted Ryan away so they could make some calls to Paris and the ICC.
“Marty called this morning,” Mark said once we were alone. “He’s a mess. Whatever the hell Donough said to him last night,” he shook his head as his eyes went skyward, “it didn’t need to be said.” Of course, Martin called Mark. They were friends. Morbidly, I wondered who would get to keep Mark in the event of our break up.
“Agreed.”
“That being said,” he continued, “what I’m about to say has nothing to do with Marty.” He blew out a breath. “You’ve made it clear that you have issues working out of this office. Every time you do, you lose a piece of yourself, or so you’ve said. I’ve asked a dozen times if you’ll come back, but you always insist you don’t want to be a federal agent anymore. You’ve left me no choice but to accept this fact. Therefore, this situation has nothing to do with you. You can’t help Inspector Donough, Interpol, or the ICC.”
“But–” And Mark cut me off.
“No. You wanted a life in the private sector, and you have one. There’s no overlap here. Director Kendall isn’t asking you to consult for us, so go home. Maybe you can photograph some cheating husbands or something.” His words stung. He was one of the only people who could hurt me by showing disappointment or disapproval. This felt like both.
“Make sure Donough gets a ride back to his hotel,” I snapped, leaving the room.
“Parker, it’s for your own good.”
I didn’t acknowledge this. Too many things were wrong with this situation. I just needed some time to myself to sort it all out. Everyone was pulling me in a different direction. The only consensus among my friends and colleagues was that I shouldn’t be involved. That was easier said than done.
Heading to my office, I flipped the sign on the front door saying we were open and took a seat at my desk. There were no messages on the machine or mail in the box requesting my investigative skills, but I found a flyer for a new Mongolian restaurant with a coupon in the bottom corner. At least my day was improving.
“All right,” I said to the empty room, “find a place to begin.” The only thing I had extensive knowledge on was the GTA ring. Rooting through the drawer for pen and paper, I listed everyone involved, created a timeline for the local thefts, and diagrammed what I knew to be true. Flipping to the next sheet of paper, I made copious notations in shorthand on each of the players, not bothering to add Ryan to the list. This brought me to Reginald Barlow and his questionable travel plans.
On the next sheet of paper, I listed the locations he visited. Sighing, I stared at the list, wondering what to do. This was the proverbial crossroads. If I went down this path, there was no telling where it would lead. Was I committed to helping someone who didn’t specifically ask for my help? How much was I willing to sacrifice for no damn good reason? Screw it.
I dropped my pen on top of the paper and picked up my keys. Maybe there was a Betty Ford clinic for former federal agents or something. Fuck if I know. The only thing I planned to investigate was the auto ring. Nothing else. Yes, the case was closed, but only the local thieves were apprehended. This was much bigger than Tommy Claxton and Robert Gregson, and there was no reason why I couldn’t do some casual checking.
Arriving at the precinct, I bumped into O’Connell, who was on his way out. He had just come off shift and was ready to go home. “Parker,” he blocked my entrance to the stairway, “what are you doing here?”
“Just wanted to get an update on the GTAs.”
“Come on,” he put his arm around my shoulders and forced me out the door I just entered, “I think you ought to buy me lunch instead. I’ll drive.” Nick wasn’t taking no for an answer, so I grudgingly got into his car. He rambled nonstop to the burger joint about his wife, Jen, and the latest happenings at the hospital where she worked. It was distraction 101, and it wasn’t working.
Finally, after getting our fatty burgers and greasy fries, he was forced to stop talking as he chewed. The filibuster was broken. Thank god. Not willing to waste the opportunity, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
“What’s going on with the car thieves you have in custody?”
“Ongoing police investigation,” he said, swallowing. “You know I can’t talk about it.”
“Goddammit,” I swore, angrier than I realized, “I can’t catch a break.” He stared as if I were coming unhinged, which maybe I was. “You told me to stay away from Ryan. Martin told me to stay away from Ryan. Mark told me to stay away from Ryan. This is as far as I’m willing to compromise. It’s not directly related to what he’s doing, but it’s on the outskirts. Please, Nick, I need something.”
His eyes held the comprehension that no one else exhibited. Somehow, he understood. I felt there was a debt owed, and since I couldn’t repay it, I had to do the next best thing.
“Claxton’s the errand boy. There’s so much evidence against him, but it’s apparent he’s not in charge. Right now, the DA’s hoping to get him to flip on Gregson in exchange for dropping some of the more serious charges. It’d be nice if Gregson turned on Barlow since it seems he’s the puppeteer in all of this, but the man is scared. We’ve tried threats, promises, and even offered protection, but he’s stonewalling us. I don’t think there’s any chance of turning him.”
“What about Reggie?”
He picked up a fry and chewed thoughtfully to buy time before answering. “We’re being cautious around him. By the book. No offers. Basic questions with his attorney present.” He picked up another fry. “Did you know he’s not a citizen? We’re holding him for now, but there are obvious complications. ICE is chomping at the bit, hoping to deport him to Canada. Aren’t Canadians characterized by their lack of criminal behavior?”
“They’re still human, aren’t they?” I searched my mind for a better question to ask, but none surfaced. “Why are you being so careful around Reggie
Barlow?”
“Alex,” he shook his head and played with the straw in his cup, “this isn’t the time or place for that conversation. My guess is the car thefts will be handled properly. Claxton will eventually turn on Gregson, and he’ll go down for it. We’ll press charges against Barlow, and depending on what else happens, either he’ll be held responsible, or he’ll be sent home. That’s all you need to know.”
He was right; it was all I needed to know. Nothing else was my problem or my responsibility. Overstepping my boundaries always led to trouble. Cars. I needed to focus on the cars.
“Any idea why they were stealing cars?” I asked.
“Because they’re car thieves. Do you not see the correlation?”
“Any idea how many were stolen?” With the exception of the two I grabbed and the three from the dealership’s delivery, all I had record of were the stolen APS clients’ vehicles.
“Eleven that we know about. You brought us the data on the eleven, remember? It should have been twelve based on your statement, but Donough didn’t deliver.”
“How many vehicles were reported stolen from the time Barlow arrived in town until the raid Friday night?” Either I was on to something, or I was fabricating a plausible story to stave off my involvement with chasing the Camel, unless all roads led to the same place.
“You’re neurotic.” He leaned against the booth and stretched. “I’ve just come off a double thanks to the shit storm raining down on the precinct. The last thing I want to do right now is go back to work and read through burglary’s files, but since I have to take you back to your car anyway, I’m not completely opposed to stepping inside and telling someone to have copies forwarded to my desk concerning all vehicular thefts for the last month.”
“See, this is why you’re my favorite, but don’t tell Heathcliff.”
“No, this is a quid pro quo.” He pointed for emphasis. “You’re not doing a damn thing until then.” He snickered. “Why do I even bother saying such stupid things? I know you’re incapable of listening.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, typed something in, and put the phone down. “They should have it on my desk by the time we get back. Just promise you won’t do anything other than investigate the car thefts.”