by Leigh Barker
He returned to the window, picked up his bourbon and looked past Mancini at the city lights. “Trouble with women,” he said, “you show them a little kindness and suddenly they’re picking out their wedding dress.”
Mancini laughed and relaxed. “I hear that.” He raised his glass. “Another?”
“Hell, why not.” Ethan followed Mancini back across the enormous loft apartment and leaned on the bar in the corner while Mancini fixed the drinks.
“You’ll have some explaining to do when you go back in,” Ethan said.
Mancini dropped ice in the chunky glasses and handed one to Ethan. “Screw them. I’m not going to stand by and watch an injustice like this one just roll out.”
Ethan raised his glass. “I’ll drink to that.”
They clinked glasses.
“Hey,” Ethan said, and put his glass down on the bar untouched. “How’d you find me so fast? Impressive.”
“Teddy had Kelsey’s car bugged when you were in that meeting with him.”
“Sneaky.”
“He is.” Mancini took a long pull on his bourbon. “You’re not drinking. I thought marines could hold their liquor.”
Ethan chuckled. “Maybe when I was younger.” He shrugged. “Now two drinks and I’m looking for the john.”
Mancini looked Ethan over as if inspecting a horse for sale. “Yeah, I guess you’ve been around a while.”
“Guess so. Knew John Wayne’s dad.”
Mancini sniffed a kind of laugh and topped up his drink.
“You tell Teddy where I am yet?” Ethan said casually.
Mancini frowned at him. “Why would I tell Teddy anything?”
“Dunno. Maybe because he’s paying you.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Mancini said, and put down his drink. “If I was going to do something shitty like that, it’d take a lot more money than a federal employee could pull together.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Ethan tapped his fingers on the dark granite bar top. “How much?”
“Excuse me?”
“How much more than a federal employee’s savings would it take for you to sell out?” Ethan was smiling. It was a friendly rhetorical question.
Yeah, friendly.
“That’s stupid.”
“What about… oh, I don’t know. A million dollars?”
“Where the hell would Teddy get his hands on a million dollars?”
Ethan stepped past the end of the bar and faced Mancini. “A black ops budget would have a million dollars.”
Mancini’s hand swept down and back for his Glock. If it’d been the Wild West, Ethan would have gone for his gun, but it was a luxury loft in DC, so he took a fast step forward and snapped a short punch into Mancini’s chest just above his heart. No fast draw. Mancini snatched a breath and dropped to his knees, and Ethan took the gun from his unresisting fingers.
“And here was me thinking we were getting on great. Drinking together like old friends.”
Mancini had one hand supporting him on the floor and the other holding his chest as he gasped for air now that his breathing rhythm was completely disrupted.
Ethan put the Glock on the bar and took a sip of bourbon. “Hey, your lips are turning blue.” He stepped up behind Mancini, put his arms around him in a bear-hug and compressed his chest until his breathing started to stabilize; then he stood up and leaned on the bar to finish his drink. He raised his glass and looked at its contents. “I’m going to be peeing all night after this.”
Mancini had both hands on the floor now and was glaring up at him. “You bastard.”
“Quite possible, though my mom would never admit it.”
Mancini climbed slowly to his feet. “I’m going to rip your fucking head off and flush it down the toilet.”
Ethan frowned. “Mechanically that’s not likely. From the toilet perspective, you understand, not from the ripping part.”
Mancini moved forward and to his left.
“Think about it, son. I just put you at death’s door with a little tap. Now you want to go all Rocky Balboa on my ass and you think I’m going to stand still and let you.” He chuckled. “Tell you what.” Ethan put down his drink. “Let’s just have a little chat and another drink. What do you say?”
Mancini threw a punch, a good straight right with powerful young muscle behind it. It would’ve put Ethan to sleep for a week had he not decided to fasten his shoelace right at that moment. The punch went over his shoulder and Mancini staggered and followed it. Ethan stood up and Mancini sailed over the bar, executed an almost elegant summersault and landed on Jason’s fine glass coffee table. Jason would not be a happy camper.
Ethan walked around the bar, crouched and flicked shards of glass off Mancini’s chest. “I hope you didn’t hurt yourself. How’d you fall over me anyhow? Probably a bit of a slip. Was that it? A bit of a slip?”
Mancini groaned and rolled on his side.
“Hey, hold up there,” Ethan said. “Let me move this glass, we don’t want you cutting yourself and bleeding all over that fine suit.”
He moved the larger shards and flicked the rest away with one of the straw coasters that had been on the table. Before Mancini slipped and fell on it.
“There you go. You need a hand up?”
Mancini climbed to his feet, lost his balance and leaned over the bar.
“Yeah, good idea, you take a little rest and I’ll get you a drink. I can see you like bourbon.” He walked around the bar, poured three fingers of bourbon in a glass and put it in front of Mancini. Then he pulled up a stainless steel stool and sat in front of him, right in front of him. “What were we talking about? Oh yeah. How much Teddy paid you to rat me out.”
Did people say rat me out? Probably the same people who said punk. It was an age thing he decided to live with.
“Doubt it was a mil,” he said, and pushed the glass closer to Mancini, who was still having trouble breathing, and his skin was as white as an Eskimo’s ass in December. Ethan sipped his drink. “What? Hundred grand. Hey, wait, you young folks say K now, don’t you? Right. Was it a hundred K?”
“Fuck you.”
“That’s hurtful, I thought we were becoming friends, what with us drinking and falling about like sailors on shore leave.” He pointed at the wrecked table. “Somebody’s going to have to pay for that.” He smiled at the furious face looking at him across the bar. “That’ll be you. You’re the one come into a bundle, right?”
“Fuck you.”
“You said that. You’re starting to repeat your expletives.”
Mancini pushed himself up off the bar but kept his hands on the edge for support. He couldn’t believe anybody could hit as hard as this man, and how did he fall onto the table? He must have slipped and lost his balance. Only explanation that made sense.
“I suppose you think you have me?”
Ethan smiled. “Don’t think.”
“Well, think on this. Every federal agent in the country’s got your picture taped to their dash, and when they find you, and that’s not far in the future, you’re going to be deader than Bin Laden.”
“Dead is an absolute, can’t be deader than dead. Didn’t you go to school?” He was enjoying pushing Mancini’s buttons; he’d tricked him and tried to kill him—not much of a try, but still he’d tried—so to hell with him.
“What now?” Mancini took the drink, looked at it, then at Ethan and downed it in one swallow. The man was already on the short road to a long drop.
“Now?” Ethan said. “Now you’re going to tell me everything you know.”
“Don’t think so.”
“You didn’t let me finish.” Ethan stepped out from behind the bar and drew his Sig. “Or I’m going to shoot you in the knee. That one first. Then your elbows.” He looked pained. “I’d be real sorry about it, you know? You and me being friends now.”
“You shoot a federal agent and you’re in a world of hurt.”
“What, worse than having my picture on the dash of ever
y agent in the country?”
Ethan pointed his gun at Mancini’s left knee and he tried to back off, but then his right knee was out in front.
“You’re out of your mind.”
“And then after I’ve shot you in the elbows, you don’t talk, I’m going to drop you off that balcony.” He pointed at the wide sundeck. “What are we? Twenty-seventh floor? There about.” He flinched. “You’ll make that whump noise when you hit the concrete.”
Mancini was staring at the windows with his mouth open. He knew exactly what noise the marine was talking about. He turned to face his tormentor, all bravado gone and his brass tarnished. “I don’t know anything.”
“That true?” He got a nod. “Then I can skip the shooting you part. It would be noisy anyhow. We can go straight to the dropping you off the balcony.” He took a step towards him, and Mancini stepped back, got tangled in the broken table and sat down hard and cried out.
“Shit,” Ethan said, “you got glass in your ass? That’s gotta hurt.” He shook his head. “Don’t ask me to pull it out, I’m squeamish about blood.” He put his Sig back in its holster and held out his hand. “Come on, let me help you over to the window. There’s a great view.”
Mancini scooted away, cried out again and stopped. He raised his hands. “Okay, okay.”
“See, if we’d just gone straight to the okays, we could have avoided all this unpleasant talk and the pain in your ass.” He sat on one of the stools at the bar. “You stay sitting comfortably there and unburden yourself. You’ll feel a whole lot better.”
Mancini looked around, but there was nowhere to go. He still had his gun in its belt holster but knew he’d be deader than… dead is an absolute. His body sagged in resignation.
“Hey, you want another drink?” Ethan said, lifting the bourbon bottle. “I can see you like it.”
“I want you to catch cancer and die.”
“Can’t catch cancer, it’s not contagious.” Ethan was in a helpful frame of mind.
“Let’s get this over with and I can be shut of you. What do you want?”
“I want to know why you betrayed your country just for money, but don’t really care enough to listen to the answer. So what’s Teddy up to?”
Mancini started to get up, saw Ethan shake his head and sat back down. “He’s going to make you suffer.”
Ethan chuckled. “I’m a marine, suffering is my raison d’etre.”
“He blames you for his son’s death.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“He’s says he’s going to watch you being dragged out in a body bag on the six o’clock news.”
Ethan glanced at the chrome sun clock above the pretend fireplace. “Well, that boat has sailed. It’s twenty-one thirty.”
“Ten o’clock news will do just fine.”
“Only if you’re expecting reinforcements.” He saw his reaction. “You are, aren’t you?” He got off the stool and bent over Mancini to go through his pockets. “What is it? A tracker?”
Mancini smirked at him. Ethan punched him in the face. No more smirking.
Ethan took Mancini’s Glock and pushed it into his belt. “So this is Teddy’s plan? Get me to think you’re my bud, and all the time the feds believe I’ve kidnapped you. So they come boiling in here and shoot on sight. Is that the best our fine analyst could come up with?”
No, of course it wasn’t, but it was a hell of a diversion, getting the whole city jumping through hoops while he did something else. And what was that something else?
Ethan crossed to the window and looked through the balcony balustrade at the street running away at right angles to the building. No flashing lights. He turned back as he heard the glass cracking and watched Mancini get painfully to his feet and pull a five-inch sliver of glass from the top of his thigh.
“You should get that seen to,” Ethan said, “could get infected.”
Mancini looked up slowly. “What is it with you?”
“Menopausal, I guess.”
“You’re still here. I tell you the cavalry’s coming and you just stand around making smartass comments.”
“Got one more question.”
Mancini sighed and his shoulders sagged. “Go for it.”
“What’s Teddy doing while the federales are running around looking for me?”
Mancini didn’t answer, just glared at him, until Ethan opened the door to the sundeck and winked. “Whump.”
“Shit. You are completely out of your fucking mind, you know that?”
“Been said.”
Mancini thought about his options for about two seconds. He didn’t have any, well, none where he stayed alive if he tried to get cute. Fuck it, he didn’t owe Teddy anything, he was a criminal. Yeah, he was. He left it there before it got too close to home.
“You think he’s working his way up the chain of command,” he said and got a nod in response. “And maybe you’re right. But you missed something.”
“And that is?” Ethan stepped away from the window after one more look up the quiet street.
“You think he’s going after the President, the commander in chief, where the buck stops. And I daresay that’s the plan, but there’s another link in the chain before him.”
And Ethan got it. “SecNav.”
“Correct. Give the man a ceegar.” His smile turned into a flinch as his split lip rebelled. “It’s always been SecNav. He’s been the target since day one.”
“And all this, the assassinations, the kidnapping, bombs, the whole mess has just been one huge misdirect.”
“Yes.” Mancini squinted. “Any cop worth a damn would’ve seen it a mile away.”
“You got your handcuffs?”
Mancini lifted his jacket to show a leather pouch. “Zip ties.”
Ethan put out his hand and Mancini handed him a half dozen ties held together by a gold spring. He looked at it and glanced up. “This an earring?”
“Was my wife’s. She doesn’t need it anymore.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“No, she’s not dead, unfortunately. She ran off with a lawyer. Miami, I think.”
“It comes with the job.”
“It does.”
Ethan unclipped the earring and tossed it to Mancini. “You need the bathroom?”
“Yeah, too many of those.” He pointed at the empty glass.
“Then that’s where you’ll be spending a while.” Ethan followed him across the polished wood to the bathroom at the end of the loft, gave him a minute to get it done, then knocked the toilet seat down. “Take a seat.”
Mancini sighed heavily but sat on the pine seat and let Ethan secure his left hand to the chrome pipe running up to the sink.
“Now you could probably pull that pipe out of there,” Ethan said, “but you might just crack it, and then you’ll be here all night up to your ass in cold water.”
He opened the mirrored cabinet above the sink and pulled out a small first aid kit and handed Mancini a large dressing. “Might as well be doing something while you’re waiting for the troops.”
“Obliged,” Mancini said, and started to unbuckle his belt one-handed. “I’m sorry it’s going to end the way it is. You’re okay for a jarhead.”
“Been said,” Ethan said as he closed the door behind him.
Ethan left Jason’s keys on the bar. The Porsche would’ve been cool, but Mancini knew about it now. He put Mancini’s Glock on the bar as well. His Sig had ten rounds in the mag and that was enough to start a war, in the right hands. Maybe enough to finish one.
He crossed the street, stepped into the shadows and looked both ways for any sign that the place was under surveillance. He saw nothing exciting, so there was nobody there. He walked briskly to the corner of U Street, turned right and headed west. He needed transport, and this street, with its clubs and bars, was just the place to find an abandoned vehicle.
He took out his burner and called Kelsey. “Thanks for the heads-up.” He listened. “No, I didn’t, he’s sitting
on the can in Jason’s apartment, which is something to see, by the way.” He listened again. “Oh right. Yeah, it has got great views. Send somebody over to pick him up before he breaks something. Remind them he’s a bad man. And hurry them up, the FBI is on its way.” He looked both ways along the street again and saw nothing but a few after-work suits heading for the bars.
“I’ll call you back in five,” he said, and was about to end the call, but had a thought. “The geek still there?”
“He is.”
“Doesn’t he ever go home? Never mind. Don’t let him. I need him.” Now he ended the call.
He started with the Ford Fusion parked badly. He bent as if to fasten his shoe and put his hand under the wheel arch. No hidden magnetic key box. Then he repeated the move with the old Silverado, with the same result. He checked four others and was beginning to think folks had got wise to thieves knowing where to find the hidden key. One more try, then he’d have to hail a cab. Not great for a wanted man.
Two minutes later, he’d be using a Jaguar XJ Supersport because the owner had put his spare key in the slot below the front grille. Nobody would ever look there. The XJ was silver, fast but not so much it was conspicuous. With a top speed around one-fifty, it would do just fine. The owner would be in one of the bars, so he’d be doing him a service taking away the temptation to drive. Do a good deed every day, his mother used to say. He supposed that was why they were always broke when he was a kid.
He fastened his seatbelt and drove away at the speed limit. Not so fast as to get an eager-beaver traffic cop chasing him, and not so slow as to make the same cop think he had something to hide. A few drinks maybe.
He pressed redial on his phone as he turned right onto Sixth. He didn’t know it yet, but he was going in the right direction. For a change.
“I’m mobile. Are you with the geek?” He listened. “Okay, put him on.” He took a right and pulled into somebody’s reserved parking space in front of an office block. “Kid… yeah, okay, Ed. I need you to do something for me, can you do it?”
“Most things I can do,” Ed said, “some things I won’t do.”
“Very philosophical. Now shut up and do this. I want you to find SecNav and I want you to do it on the QT.”