by J. M. LeDuc
“Did you hear that pompous ass?” Sin yelled. Pacing back and forth in front of the ME’s office, she squeezed her cell as if strangling Rand’s neck. “I want him barred from having anything to do with this case from here on out. He put my goddamn cell phone number on the television. If he pulls another stunt like that, I want his badge!”
“Normally,” Frank said in a calm voice, “I would ask what you did to prompt his actions, but since I had the displeasure of speaking to him, I realize it might be his sparkling personality that’s at the core of the problem, and not you…for once.”
Sin stopped pacing. “Well,” she said, “do I have your permission to kick his ass and his department off the case?”
She could hear Frank sigh. “Yes and no.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means that I will email the requisite paperwork to have Captain Rand pulled off the case, but you still need support. As large as the Miami field office is, it’s over its head right now on other matters.”
“What other matters?” Sin paused, pulled a half-smoked cigarette out of her pack, and lit it. “Wait, are you talking about the drugs found near the Miami River?”
“Yes, the operation is much bigger than we first suspected. The office pooled a lot of resources and agents to work that case, and most of the other agents are busy with their own cases. Those are a couple of the reasons why I agreed to have you brought in.”
“That reminds me,” Sin said, “why does the name Raul Sanchez sound so familiar?”
Sin could hear Frank talking to someone else in his office.
“Sin, I need to go to a meeting. For now, I will allow you to diplomatically remove Rand from the case. But if you do, don’t expect cooperation from his department. You will need back up.”
“Fine, I will make contact with the Miami office and work with whoever they have available.”
“Done. Contact me tomorrow with an update.”
Frank hung up before Sin could respond. He agreed way too fast, she thought. Biting her lower lip, she stared down at her phone.
I think I was just set up.
CHAPTER 8
An hour later, Sin rode up to the front of the FDLE office on Miami Beach. Reporters were camped out across the street as a couple of uniforms kept them from entering the building.
She parked her bike on the sidewalk in front of HQ and was stopped before she’d traveled ten feet.
“You can’t park your bike on a public walkway.” The officer pointed to the end of the block. “There is a public parking lot at the end of the street. You will need to park there.”
Sin flashed the badge that was hanging around her neck. “I won’t be long,” she said as she continued toward them.
One of the officers looked down and saw the twin pearl-handled .45 caliber revolvers strapped to her hips. His hand instinctively slid toward his gun belt.
Sin spread her arms out wide. “Easy, Officer,” she said, “we’re all on the same side. I’m here to see Captain Rand.”
The officers eyed one another, nodded, and the one closest to the door opened it, allowing Sin entrance to the building.
The blast of cold from the air conditioning felt like a small piece of paradise as she walked through the open door.
Alarms went off as she made her way through the metal detectors and two other officers quickly materialized.
Sin held her credentials high. “I’m with the FBI.”
She watched as the officers moved forward cautiously; their gazes shifting between her face and gun belt.
Sin had been in the habit of wearing her Colt .45’s in an old-fashioned gun belt reminiscent of a western gunslinger from long ago. She found that, in the parts of the world she tended to prowl, the sooner you made a statement—the better.
One officer dropped his shooting hand to the butt end of his Glock while the other scrutinized her credentials. He eyed her badge, glared at her, and walked to the other side of the lobby. Sin watched him depress the talk button on his radio and start to whisper.
Keeping her eyes on the young officer with the twitchy fingers while listening to the other, it was evident that Sin’s presence was being reported to Captain Rand. She took it in stride. After all, in a matter of minutes the balance of power was about to change.
The officer on the radio finished his call and walked back. “You can head up to the third floor but you need to leave your weapons here.”
Sin slid her hand over her gun belt, unbuckled it, and placed the assembly into a lockbox. Given the key, she stepped into the elevator and waited for the doors to close. As soon as they did, she lifted her pant leg and slid her pearl-handled Balisong—butterfly knife—from her boot and placed it in her back pocket. You can never have too many weapons, she thought. Just as she pulled her pant leg back over her boot, the elevator bell sounded and the doors opened.
The squad room was silent as Sin stepped off the elevator. She stopped at the first desk, flashed her credentials, and asked to see Captain Rand.
The officer behind the desk pointed to a chair. “Have a seat. The Captain will be with you when he has a moment.”
Sin stifled a sharp retort and took a seat in front of his desk. She spent the next fifteen minutes checking and answering her email. During that time, she watched three officers walk in and out of Rand’s office on separate occasions.
She had all she was going to take.
Sin stood and moved toward Rand’s office, but a large-sized squad member stood in front of her, blocking her way. He held out his hand in a classic maneuver.
“I don’t remember the Captain calling your name,” he said. “Why don’t you be a good little girl and go sit down before I find it necessary to help you.”
Sin’s eyes roamed the room taking in the position of squad. Her eyes then focused on the cop’s large, paw-like hand before zeroing in on his face. Her eyes squinted in a cold stare as she took a step forward. “I suggest you put your hand down and let me pass before I make you apologize for your behavior, Officer.”
The big man leaned forward in an effort to push Sin back, but she was ready for his move. She twisted her torso, reached under his arm, and grabbed his thumb in her fist, pulling down and back causing his knees to hit the floor hard.
She was so fast that by the time the other officers in the room had time to stand and reach for their weapons, Sin was standing over the big guy, torqueing his thumb and holding her Balisong—blade open—above his head.
“Somebody, do something,” he cried, “she’s going to break my finger.”
Rand suddenly appeared, and yelled, “Are you out of your fucking mind, O’Malley?” He stood in front of her with a scowl. “I suggest you let Sergeant Monroe up before I have you arrested.”
Sin twisted her wrist just enough to cause Monroe to scream again. “No can do, Captain. You see, the big guy here was the aggressor, and he owes me an apology.”
“You are crazy!” Rand yelled. “I have five other officers who will testify that you stormed my office and attacked Sgt. Monroe. Now let him go before I order one of my men to shoot you in self-defense.”
“You want to play chicken? Okay, let’s play. I say I can break his thumb and dislocate his shoulder before even one of your men gets a shot off.”
“That won’t be necessary, Agent O’Malley.”
Sin turned her attention to the bank of elevators where Mayor Sanchez now stood.
“I saw the whole thing.”
“Good,” Rand said, turning around, “so you can vouch for us.”
“On the contrary, Captain. From my perspective, I would tend to agree with Agent O’Malley’s assessment of the situation.”
Rand was pissed. “What vantage point,” he spat, “you just stepped off the damn elevator.”
“I had the luxury of watching the last twenty minutes on the closed circuit monitor downstairs at the security desk. I have little doubt how a jury will view what just happened if you care to pursu
e this any further.”
Rand glared at the politician.
“I suggest you call off your dogs, Rand,” Sin said, “because my arm is getting tired, and if I get a spasm, I’m afraid—”
“All right, all right,” Rand said. “Everyone sit down and go about your business.”
His men grumbled, but did as instructed.
Sin opened her fist, letting go of Monroe’s thumb causing the big man to drop on all fours.
Rand eyed two of his men. “Take Monroe out of here and buy him a drink on me.”
Mayor Sanchez walked up to Sin and stuck out his hand. “Please except my apology on behalf of the city of Miami Beach, and the Florida Department of Law Enforcement.”
Sin flicked her wrist, snapped her Balisong closed, placed it in her back pocket, and shook his hand. “No blood, no foul,” she said.
Sanchez laughed at her words. “I will let you finish what you came here to do. I will wait for you downstairs.”
He looked at Rand. “I am sure this was all a mistake, Captain, and I suggest”—he locked eyes with each person in the room—“we all forget it ever happened. Good night.”
Rand looked like he could spit nails as he nodded at the boss and waved Sin into his office.
She didn’t give him time to sit down. “This won’t take but a minute,” she said, removing a folded piece of paper from her front pocket, “I just came to deliver this.” She slapped the paper into his open palm.
“Your resignation, I hope?” he quipped.
“Not quite.”
Rand opened the paper, scanned it, balled it up, and threw it in the wastebasket. “This is bullshit. You can’t do this.”
“I just did,” Sin said. “If you don’t like it, take it up with your old friend, Director Frank Graham. I’m sure he’d love a phone call from you.”
She walked out of his office with Rand trailing behind.
“This isn’t the end of this, Bitch.”
Sin stepped into the elevator and pushed the button. “Yes it is.”
Back in the lobby, Sin collected her guns and belt, but the mayor was nowhere to be found.
She stepped outside and spotted him standing next to her bike talking to Troy. Their conversation stopped as soon as they noticed her coming straight at them.
“Ah, Agent O’Malley,” Mayor Sanchez said, “I was admiring your bike when your friend Troy walked up. I was just telling him that he will always have a job with the department if he decides he isn’t suited for life in the Keys.”
Sin looked at Troy, before studying the face of the mayor. “Thank you for your help upstairs, but I’m a little confused as to why you were there.”
The mayor waved her off. “You didn’t need my help,” he laughed, “and it was an honor watching you in action. I’ve heard so much about you, and to be honest, some of the stories seemed a little blown out of proportion. It’s refreshing to know that they most definitely were not.”
Sin was more confused than ever.
“And as far as why I was there,” he continued, “my office—City Hall—is right across the street. I was heading home when I saw you ride up. By the time I managed to get across the street, you were already in the elevator. I wanted to thank you for helping the city, but I didn’t want to interrupt you, so I decided to stay downstairs and wait. I watched the entire event on the security monitor. You were quite impressive.”
“Thank you, I think,” Sin said. “Mayor Sanchez, I don’t mean to be rude, but how do you know anything of my reputation?”
Mayor Sanchez’s cell phone alerted him of a text. He read it and placed it back in his suit coat pocket. “I apologize, but we will have to finish this conversation at a later date. That was my wife. If I’m late for dinner, she will never let me hear the end of it.” He grinned. “No officer is scarier than she is.”
He shook Troy’s hand and then cupped Sin’s hand in both of his. “Thank you again, Agent O’Malley.”
“Sin, please call me Sin.”
“Very well, Sin,” he smiled, “but only if you call me Raul.”
Sin smiled back. “You better get going, Raul, you don’t want to keep your wife waiting.”
Sin and Troy watched as the mayor trotted across the street and drove away in his waiting car.
“So, Stubbs, what brings you here?”
“I had a little time so I thought I would come by and pick up the remainder of my things.”
“And here I thought you were a knight in shining armor come to rescue a damsel in distress.”
Troy was silent for a moment—he seemed awkward—and then looked down at his watch. “I better get up there before they clean out my desk. I’ll see you at seven?”
Sin stepped forward and kissed Troy on the cheek. For the first time, an uncomfortable distance existed between them. She let her hand rest on his shoulder before letting her fingers trail down his chest.
As she rode away, she knew, deep inside, that he wasn’t going to show and even deeper inside, she knew she was grateful.
CHAPTER 9
Sin was up, out, and on the road early. As expected, Troy called around six thirty the night before to let her know that he couldn’t make it. The excuse given was that ‘the guys’ had planned to take him out, and since it was his last night, he couldn’t say no.
Riding north on Collins Avenue, Sin thought about the future or if there would even be a future for the two of them. She didn’t have much of a chance to dwell on the subject, thankfully, because before she knew it she was passing a sign that cheerily stated: “Welcome to North Miami Beach.”
Traffic thinned once she passed the entrance to the Haulover Park Marina, a popular beachfront park for boaters and beachgoers alike. As soon as the coast was clear, Sin gave the throttle one hard twist of her wrist and jetted the rest of the way to the 163rd Street Causeway. She turned west and made her way to NW 2nd Avenue—the location of the FBI’s Miami Beach field office.
Sin signed in with the security officer and was led to an empty conference room on the top floor. The room looked sterile—too empty for her comfort. The only thing in it was a small conference table, five chairs, and a whiteboard. On top of the table were two files and a small envelope with her name on it. Sin gazed at the files; one was labeled Crime Scene and the other, Coroner. Sin breathed deep and sighed as she looked about the room.
I’ve worked outside the system for so long, she thought, I don’t know if I can get used to this.
Her gaze moved from the files to the envelope. She knew who it was from before she opened it: her lifelong friend and mentor, Charlie. Two qualities of the writing gave away his identity—block lettering and her name. It was addressed to Sinclair. Charlie was the only one who ever called her by her full name.
Picking up the envelope, she sat in the chair at the head of the table. Opening it, she found an early birthday card. It brought a smile and a tear.
She had last spoken to Charlie two months ago before her last assignment. He was about to depart on what he’d called his “bucket list” journey. From the itinerary he gave her, she surmised that he should now be in the middle of the Ngorongoro Crater in Tanzania, Africa, on safari.
In the last nine months since Frank had reinstated her, Sin had been able to toss ideas off Charlie and use him as a sounding board.
Now he was traveling the world and she was on her own.
An image of Troy flashed in her head.
Totally alone.
Sin opened the card, read it, and placed it in her backpack. Her birthday was still two weeks away, but it felt good to have someone thinking of her.
She opened the file titled, “Crime Scene,” and settled back in the chair. There was nothing in the file that surprised her. Troy and Quincy had led the investigation at the beach and had subsequently told her everything they knew. Laying it down and about to pick up the other, a phone rang. It wasn’t her phone, and she didn’t see one on the table. She followed the ring and found one attached to
the wall next to the whiteboard.
“Agent O’Malley speaking.”
“Sin, it’s Frank, I’m glad to see you settling in.”
“Don’t get too used to it. I’m already feeling claustrophobic.”
Frank laughed.
Never a good sign, she thought. Frank never laughs.
“Spill it, Frank.”
“Remember our conversation yesterday?”
“Do you want me to repeat it back to you word for word?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Frank said. “I have three agents assigned to assist you. One is a veteran of the Bureau. She is real spunky and she will be a reservoir of knowledge. One is a native of Miami, but he’s barely had time to get his feet wet since leaving the academy. The other, um, let’s just say, you know each other.”
Sin immediately stiffened at his slightly awkward tone. “Who is it, Frank?”
“Jack.”
“McGuire! Have you lost your fucking mind?”
“Sin, he’s a valuable asset and—”
“And, nothing. He’s a self-centered bastard, and one of the reasons I was tossed from the FBI in the first place.”
“You have no one to blame for that but yourself.”
“Is that so,” Sin said. “Then why don’t we just sit this dance out. I’ll go back to my life and you can tango with McGuire.”
“Sin, damn it, listen to me. For once, just shut up and listen.” Frank Graham was yelling so loud that Sin had to move the phone receiver away from her ear. “You’re there because you are the best intuitive agent I have ever known. And that includes Charlie. But you’re also a little…how do I say this? Unrefined. Jack knows the system, so I want him there to calm any rough seas you may stir up.” He paused. “Scratch that. That you’ve already stirred up.”
Sin pulled her Balisong out of her pocket and snapped it open with a flick of her wrist. Putting the knife through battle maneuvers helped calm her nerves. She leaned against the wall, closed her eyes, and snapped the blade shut. In a calm but stunted voice, she said, “You know our history better than anyone; I don’t know how you expect us to work together. If he gets in the way of my investigation you’re going to have to piece back together that fragile male ego of his. This is my case, Frank, and I’m not letting any smooth talking jackass fuck it up.”