“The fact they were haunting the school makes me wonder about their sudden disinterest when we were followed,” Gus admitted. “Nothing those jackals do surprises me though. You’ve made them look bad many times, amigo. If they had followed, you would have been blamed in some weird way, only the venerable fifth estate could fathom. I like this outcome. You didn’t have to shoot anyone in the head, but that was a nice beat down you put on the Rasidi brother. Do you think they’re going to survive this continuing escalation against the dreaded El Muerto?”
“Only time will tell, but if I have to hear that Rashidi voice one more time, I may be forced to make an adjustment. I hope to serve anything like that cold though. I have too many hot irons in the fire right now. We have a couple of big cases in the North. I don’t want to get bogged down here, and miss a window of opportunity to play El Muerto.”
“I will be cursed for all time in creating that comic book reference to compare you with,” Gus admitted. “I hope your continued games involving us as the ‘Unholy Trio’ doesn’t backfire with you ending your days in a prison cell.”
“Not happening, Gus.”
“Why not? What the hell could you do about it, chomp a suicide pill in your teeth?”
“I could, but I won’t have to. I’m protected. When the government finds a killer, they don’t let him go to prison unless he kills the wrong people, like a Senator. Now that adjustment in the congressional population might have put me over the top into liability land. Since I was already on an NSA hit list thanks to Frank Richert at the time, it didn’t much matter. If I get taken into custody wiping out an Isis clan, or doing surgery on the Seattle Ripper, they’ll grab me from the locals, and stick me in a military prison. From there, after a few months, I’ll be quietly released into a new identity. That would be the death knell for my writing career, but I’d go to work somewhere else with Rachel and Jean. Damn! I’d sure miss Pacific Grove though. It would be years before I could move into the area again.”
“At least you’d be able to take the family. What about me, Muerto?”
“I’d send for you, Gus. Hell, I’m not letting John go either. He’s perfect in these times for going after the real enemies of our country. We can’t stop them with daisies fresh out of the garden. We’d start our operation again somewhere else with a coastline. We need to keep your boat in play.”
“How about the Keys, or even near your friends in Sarasota?”
“I hope I don’t have to live there. With the damn heat and humidity, all I’d feel like doing is fishing, and drinking ice cold beer.”
“Maybe that means you should go there to live,” Gus replied, holding his hands in a defensive gesture as Nick eyed him coldly. “I know… I know. It was me that talked you out of your retirement into full time writing. Look there, Muerto. Rachel’s waiting for you on the porch. She’s smiling, so I guess that’s not a bad omen.”
“Rachel is a surprise a minute since she hit the late term of her pregnancy. I have to fulfill my civic duty, so take off, and I’ll see you later if you want to sit in on the Tim and Grace meeting.”
“I do.” Gus waved at Rachel, and walked away toward his house.
“Hello, Dear. You look happy.”
“I was watching the news, and guess who had a starring role,” Rachel asked.
“That was quick. I made it into the ‘Breaking News’, huh?”
“Yep. What’s that do to our alone time?”
“I have to stop by the station, because I’m pressing charges, but after that, we’ll have a short time before I fetch Jean.”
Rachel invaded Nick’s air space, edging Deke out of the way. “I bet we could do a short time now.”
“Meaning my pantomime earlier has been haunting you?”
Rachel blushed, and bit her lip. “Damn you… yes.”
“Well now, I may be able to delay the long arm of the law for half an hour. I bet that will be enough time for you to alternate between no…no…no and then yes…yes…yes.”
“Quit gloating, and get inside.”
* * *
The police did an admiral job trying to throw Nick off during a lineup of suspects, but he picked each out in seconds with their lawyer present. The lawyer tried to engage him in conversation while he did it. Nick finally turned to Dickerson, who was standing with them.
“I was under the impression the suspect’s lawyer could monitor the procedure,” Nick said. “I was unaware the lawyer could interrogate and badger me while I participated in picking out the suspect.”
Dickerson turned to the lawyer. “Mr. McCarty is correct. You have been asked to refrain from speaking by the victim. If you continue to speak, I will have you removed Mr. Nagi. Do you understand?”
“Yes…yes,” Nagi answered, waving Dickerson off.
The procedure went smoothly after the initial interruption. Nick signed the papers Dickerson had already made available describing the arrest details. By the time he finished with the arrest procedures, two men in suits waited for him to finish. Dickerson made eye contact with Nick and nodded.
“Are you finished here, Mr. McCarty?” The medium built man with thinning brown hair asked. He showed Nick his FBI credentials. “I’m Special Agent Remy, and this is my partner, Special Agent Johnson. We’re here to discuss the disappearance of Milton Formsby.”
“We’d like to know what happened after you went for a ride with him,” Johnson said. The ebony skinned Johnson, stocky, and a couple inches taller than either Nick or his partner, appeared ready to slap the cuffs on Nick immediately.
“That’s a tough one, Agent Johnson. I didn’t go with Mr. Formsby after our initial ride. I turned the offer down he made me to ghostwrite his autobiography. We didn’t speak anymore after that.”
“Why is it you turned him down? Did he mention where he was going next after speaking with you?”
“He didn’t say much of anything after I turned down the job. He was disappointed, but I don’t write nonfiction… ever.”
Nick’s pleasant half-truths annoyed the two agents, and Nick began to wonder why. He knew the FBI were part of the operation to raid Formsby’s holdings, Gilbrech had told him would happen immediately. Suspicions Remy and Johnson may have been getting a piece of the Formsby pie began seeping through Nick’s consciousness.
“We’re going to need you to come with us,” Remy said finally.
“That’s not happening.”
“What makes you think so, McCarty?” Johnson moved into Nick’s airspace. “You think because you’re on the bestseller list that you can tell federal agents what they can or can’t do?”
“Nope. I’m wondering why two FBI agents, asking about Formsby, didn’t know all his holdings here and overseas were hit by your agency and the CIA abroad. Excuse me a moment.” Nick took out his phone, and hit speed dial to Paul Gilbrech, while Agents Remy and Johnson stared at each other, trying to cover for the shock Nick’s revelation caused.
“Nick?”
“Yep. I have two FBI agents here out of the loop. I’m thinking maybe for good reason.”
“You’re thinking right. Put them on with me.”
Nick offered his phone to Johnson, who wouldn’t touch it. After a slight hesitation, Remy accepted the phone. A few minutes later, Remy handed the phone back, all blood drained out of his face.
“Agent Remy doesn’t look so good, Paul,” Nick said, watching the two men in a frenzied huddle, whispering fiercely at each other.
“They’re on arrest warrants being signed by the Attorney General, even as we speak. Formsby’s people must have ordered them immediately to take over the case. They left DC on a redeye heading in your direction, and left their phones off. What did they want to do with you?”
“Take me somewhere.”
“Can you keep them there until I fax a warrant to your contact in the Pacific Grove police department?”
“Did you just insult me again?”
Paul chuckled. “Meaning if you did, it could get
messy. Let me speak to whomever you know there in the department.”
Nick handed the phone to Dickerson, who was watching the interchange with growing suspicion. Nick waited while Remy and Johnson continued having a heated debate, forgetting where they were, or what was at stake for the moment. They looked unstable enough to try and shoot their way out. Nick felt the butt of his .45 Colt underneath his windbreaker, loosening it a bit. What he didn’t want to happen was his friend Dickerson to be shot by a couple of fools desperate enough to get into a gun battle inside a police department. When Neil finished talking with Gilbrech he handed Nick back his phone.
“The Director of the CIA?” Dickerson whispered. “Good Lord, Nick. Who the hell are you? Mr. Gilbrech said to follow your lead.”
“Unstrap your piece, and put your hand on the butt of it,” Nick answered. “Tell them they are under arrest, and are to be detained on order from the Attorney General. I’ll back your play. Do not get between me and them, Neil. Are you okay with this? Say so one way or the other now. We can let them walk. I’ll take them into custody later.”
“I might as well throw my damn badge in the trash can if I get afraid to arrest people. Is there any chance of me ever knowing who the hell you really are?”
“Most of my connections with the DOJ, US Marshals, FBI, and CIA are as a special consultant. Anything else is classified, Neil. Let’s do this. Remember what I said.”
“I will.” Dickerson walked to Johnson’s side, his hand on the weapon at his side. “I know Mr. Gilbrech explained your situation to you. I am detaining you both by order of the Attorney General of the United States. Please lace your hands behind-”
“The hell you are!”
Before Johnson could reach for his weapon, Nick was in front of him with the barrel of his Colt against Johnson’s forehead. “Twitch, and I shoot both of you in the head. On your knees with hands laced behind your heads, and you can still live through this.”
Johnson looked into a professional killer’s eyes and knelt. Remy followed his lead, both men lacing their hands behind their heads. By that time, Dickerson had motioned three more officers over.
“Handcuff these men.”
The officers handcuffed the FBI agents, and helped them to their feet. Without asking permission, Nick disarmed them, completing a thorough frisk of the two detainees. They had their main weapons, two hideaways, and two knives. Nick helped Dickerson bag everything, including the men’s credentials and personal effects.
“Put them in holding,” Dickerson directed. He watched them until they were out of earshot. “You weren’t going to shoot two FBI agents in the head.”
“First off, he planned to shoot his way out of the precinct, which is not as hard to do as you think when bad guys don’t hesitate. Secondly, I had to take him in close. Never get in close with a weapon meant to kill from out of reach, unless you have every intention of killing at any movement. Let’s forget all that. I knew Remy was watching his life pass in front of his eyes. He wasn’t going to do anything. Johnson wised up and decided to keep breathing too. It’s a win.”
“How did you know about the bust?”
“I can’t tell you that, Neil. I knew if Remy and Johnson were here monkeying around with me, then they didn’t know what was happening with Formsby’s holdings.”
“What about you knowing the CIA Director? Is that a secret too?”
“I work for him.”
“You have his number on speed dial.”
“I have to go home, and see Rachel for a little while before I fetch Jean home from school. Can we shelve the interrogation for today? I have you on speed dial too.” Nick shook hands with Dickerson. “I hope they don’t let that nitwit Rashidi out. Two days in a row was enough having that jerk in my face.”
“I know it’s a day late and a dollar short, but I’ll have a patrol car on hand at tomorrow’s school day. I’ve had enough of the rent-a-mob bullshit too. We’re going to make Rashidi’s pack hurt financially. They’re going to find out how much endangering the public safety actually costs, especially around a school. Believe me, they won’t like it.”
“See you later, Neil.”
“I’m not comfortable with you knowing the CIA Director,” Dickerson called out.
“You’ll get over it.”
* * *
Nick lay next to Rachel, his fingers moving over her forehead with a gentle back and forth motion. They were both bathed in sweat. Rachel’s breath had only returned to normal a moment before.
“I hate you.”
Nick smiled. “You always say that. Jean wasn’t here for the wonderful little scream, so no blood, no foul, right?”
“I hate you.” Rachel covered her eyes. “I’m so demented.”
Nick moved over her, kissing her eyes, lips, and neck. “You were gorgeous today, and very erotic. I’m sure you weren’t even close to demented.”
“Don’t Nick… you’ll be late for the school.”
“No I won’t.”
“Oh…”
* * *
The school appeared back to normal, with only parents meeting their kids. “See, Deke, it’s all good. We’ll meet with the US Marshals tonight. Then you and I can relax on the balcony. You deserve treats today for being so well mannered.”
Deke glanced at Nick, his expression one of infinite patience. He hopped onto his hind legs in dance like perfection as Jean approached them with her friend from class. Jean hugged Deke, making him sit and shake hands with Sonny, which he did.
“Wow… neat dog. Hi Mr. McCarty.”
“Hi, Sonny. Do you have plans for the day?”
“I was hoping Sonny could come home with us, and have dinner later,” Jean answered for him.
“That’s fine with me, but you need to let your parents know where you’re at, Sonny. I’ll talk to them if you’d like, but you have to get their permission.” Nick wrote down their address and his mobile number. “Here’s where you’ll be, and a number your parents can reach anytime.”
“I’ll call them right now.” Sonny called home on his iPhone using FaceTime. When he had talked with his parents for a moment, he gave Nick the phone.
“My son tells me you’ve been roped into feeding him,” the woman on screen said with a smile. “I’m Clarice Salvatore.”
“Nick McCarty, Clarice,” Nick replied. “My wife’s name is Rachel. “What time would you like Sonny home tonight?”
“By eight would be fine, Nick. Thank you.”
“I’m always glad when Jean has new friends. I’ll bring Sonny to the door later.”
“Okay, bye.”
“Start thinking about fast food, kids. I’m not springing a dinner guest on your Mom, Jean. Besides, I’m trying to get Grace and Tim to take a meeting, so we’ll get some extra food, and your Mom won’t have to do a thing.”
“Pizza’s always a winner,” Jean said. “We can get extra stuff with it too.”
“Sounds good to me. What about you, Sonny?”
“Anything but Sushi is good with me.”
Nick nodded in agreement. “My sentiments exactly.”
“Grace and Tim are US Marshals, and my Dad consults with the Marshals, FBI, and CIA,” Jean explained with her usual excitement, watching Sonny’s reaction. She wasn’t disappointed.
“I…I… don’t know what to say. Holy crap… that’s awesome,” Sonny blurted out. “I thought you were a writer, Mr. McCarty.”
“He is,” Jean stated before Nick had a chance to speak. “He was in Delta Force.”
Nick gave Jean a furrowed brow Terminator stare when Sonny wasn’t looking. “It’s not as exciting as it sounds, Sonny. I’m a consultant because I’ve been in so many parts of the world, and I have an affinity for languages. They like to get outside opinions on some of their cases.”
“It sounds exciting to me,” Sonny replied. “Are you meeting with the US Marshals about a case tonight?”
“Possibly. It’s a theory I’ve been working on for them,” Nick
said, while getting the kids and Deke moving toward his house. “Are you two working on homework together tonight?”
“Ms. Kader assigned a long math page. She said we’re getting sloppy, and not checking our work,” Jean explained. “We’ll get it done before dinner. Can we practice with my throwing knives?”
“Ouch! Sure Jean, if you want the US Marshals to arrest me for child endangerment. What part of keeping that extracurricular activity on the down low didn’t you understand?”
“I won’t tell, Sir,” Sonny said.
“Absolutely not. I don’t do anything behind parents’ backs,” Nick stated. “I’m disappointed Jean even mentioned it to you.”
“What if I got their permission?”
“I’d consider it, but I’d have to talk to them face to face about their permission on something like throwing knives.”
“Could you show him the knives, and throw a few times, Dad?”
Oh this is wonderful – blending the assassin’s lifestyle with family, Nick thought. Rachel is going to blow a gasket. “No comment until I talk to your Mom about many things, including your new sharing personality.”
“I didn’t know you’d throw me under the bus if I asked,” Jean complained.
“Now you do. By the time I get through explaining your new propensity for sharing our home life, you’ll have tread marks from the tips of your shoes to the furrowed forehead you’re gracing me with.”
Sonny turned away, stifling laughter at Nick’s remark. Jean bopped him on the head.
“I didn’t mean to get you in trouble, Dagger,” Sonny said. “That was funny though.”
“You’re not supposed to call me by my secret identity either,” Jean said.
“Let’s shelve all this for now, you two. Stick to homework and what kind of pizza you’d like. I’ll handle the entertainment part.”
“Meaning movies or playing catch with Deke… boring.”
“Actually, I was thinking of the exciting game of taking Sonny home right after dinner, and then watching you write ‘I will not be a sarcastic little brat’ a thousand times before you go to bed.”
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