Instead they had waited until the odds were tilted slightly more in their favor, a move Reed reasoned was born more from not wanting to engage in open hostility with the other agencies in the area than actually caring how any of them might react.
Just as fast Reed had dismissed the notion, knowing that whatever was about to happen would likely plunge the entire proceeding into pandemonium. Egos would be bruised, voices would be raised, calls to superiors would be made.
In the meantime the clock would continue to tick, pushing the focus onto the bureaucracy of things instead of where it should be, which was finding Bethanee Ing’s killer and getting Tek-Yen and the others out safely.
As he folded his arms across his chest, watching for Grimes to circle the table and come up on his left, he could only imagine the way the officers might react, likely exploding in a way that could get the entire department dismissed from the case.
He only had to make sure he didn’t respond to whatever they were about to say in the same manner.
Still positioned to his right, neither Tucker nor Gott had moved since the disbandment of the meeting. Each of them continued to sit with their hands folded in their laps, their faces serene, looking between Reed and Grimes.
If either one seemed intimidated, or even noticed, the two staring down at them, both frowning, they didn’t show it.
“What makes you think there’s something we aren’t telling you?” Tucker opened, addressing the question to Reed.
Ignoring many of the retorts that floated to the front of his mind, Reed met the man’s gaze, his hands still on the chair back before him.
“For starters? The fact that you’re still sitting here.”
Never in his life had Reed heard of a bureau man skipping a meal. Neither had he known them to cavort with local law enforcement any longer than necessary, though he left that part out as well.
A moment passed as Tucker considered him and his response before raising his eyebrows in acquiescence and stating, “Valid.”
Remaining in place, Tucker continued to study each of the men in front of him before finally using the toe of his shoe to rotate a few inches toward his partner, the two meeting each other’s gaze.
“We can appreciate your loyalty to the girl, Tek-Yen,” Gott said, “and that you want to get her out tonight, but that simply isn’t possible.”
As he spoke, Tucker reached to the ground in the space between them, hefting a chestnut colored briefcase from the floor and placing it on the table.
“Why’s that?” Grimes asked, his voice thick from hours of going unused, just a bit of phlegm catching on the first word.
Flicking his gaze to the captain, Reed pushed it back to the agents just as fast, his eyes the only part of him that had moved.
The fact that a power play of some sort was clearly afoot didn’t surprise him in the slightest. He had been expecting it since arriving.
It was more the notion of how they were proceeding that didn’t seem to make sense, aiming at the lowest ranking organization represented.
“When the call first came in that a task force was being convened to investigate what was essentially a single murder victim, we weren’t interested,” Tucker said. He delivered the words with no sadness or apology, a simple statement of fact.
“There are dozens of those in Columbus alone every year, thousands more across the country. If the FBI were to start delving into every single one, well...”
He let his voice trail away for a moment as he spread his hands to either side, shrugging slightly.
Glancing down, Reed could again see his fingernails flashing white, a response to the death grip he had on the back of the chair before him. With each word the agents said he could feel the vitriol within growing, the indifference they displayed for Bethanee Ing, and many just like her, appalling.
“So why are you here?” he asked, pushing the question out before he could think to stop it, wanting them to hear the derision in his tone as much as needing to hear the answer.
Again a moment passed, the two agents pausing to glance at each other, before Tucker said, “We believe you stumbled into a parallel operation of something we recently began monitoring.”
Scads of question sprang to mind, a litany of inquiries poking into a dozen different topics, though Reed kept them at bay. Instead he stood and waited, employing his time tested interrogators trick, keeping his visage stony and waiting for them to continue.
A few feet away Grimes did the same.
Something told Reed if he glanced down to his partner, she too would have a similar stance.
“Two months ago we got a call from Interpol,” Gott said. “Apparently they’ve seen a sharp rise in the number of Asian call girls hitting the major cities, a trend that started three years ago but has really taken off in the last twelve months.”
There he paused, presumably allowing them to process the information.
“So they came in slow, built infrastructure,” Reed reasoned out loud.
“And have now taken things to the next level,” Tucker finished, nodding slightly.
“The next level being how much?” Grimes asked.
“Honestly, we don’t know,” Gott said, again spreading his hands wide. “I’m sure somebody does, but it was a conversation that obviously took place way above our heads.”
“What we do know is that Interpol seemed to think that whoever was behind this would soon be bringing their model across the pond, if they weren’t already here.”
“So we put the outposts in every major city on alert,” Gott said, “to start keeping an eye out for things.”
At that both men turned their attention to the briefcase on the table before them, Tucker reaching out and sliding the metal hasps to either side. The locking mechanism on both released with a loud click, the fasteners swinging upward, allowing Tucker to raise the top.
For a moment his hands were blocked from view as he operated behind the top cover, both reappearing just as fast gripping a manila folder.
“As directed from on high, we began patrolling the usual places,” he said, “but to be honest, we didn’t put a lot of stock in it.”
“South High, campus, even a few streets not far from where we’re sitting,” Gott added, “but like Preston said, it wasn’t high priority. Who the hell would import China dolls to Columbus?”
Reed could feel the skin around his eyes tighten just slightly at the agent’s choice of words, though otherwise he gave no outward indication of any kind.
The truth was the logic was a bit bigoted, but it wasn’t entirely wrong. As he and the captain had previously discussed, there was a very small Asian community in the city. While that would afford them a tiny market share that was previously unfilled, it would also make getting established that much tougher without any existing presence to fall back on.
“So what happened?” Grimes asked, skipping past the exposition and moving right to the heart of things.
Placing his pinkie down against the table, Tucker turned his hand perpendicular to the white surface, using his arm as a lever to push the briefcase to the side. Once he had a clear space before him he turned the folder to face away from himself, opening the top cover to reveal a stack of photos inside.
“In short, we found someplace that might be a match, the kind of place it sounds like your Bethanee Ing might have been looking into.”
Letting his gaze linger on Tucker a moment, Reed slowly shifted his attention to the photos stacked up on the table.
“And that’s when the bureau decided to hear what we had to say this morning.”
“No,” Gott said, still leaning back in his chair, Tucker’s body partially blocking him from view, “we would have still sent somebody over here, but it damned sure wouldn’t have been two senior agents.”
For the second time in as many minutes Reed felt his ire rise at the man sitting across from him, the man’s crass comments and the manner in which he delivered them both confirming every negative ste
reotype that existed.
“What my partner is trying to say,” Tucker interjected, glancing back at Gott before forcing a tiny smile into place, “is that we have been working this for a week and feel like we have a pretty good handle on what is happening. Sitting here today and hearing that there might be a second arm of the organization though changes things dramatically for us.”
“Which is why we can’t go in tonight,” Gott said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the edge of the table. “If this thing is as big as we suspect it might be, we need to be sure to have our bases covered.”
Reed didn’t yet know if what the men were saying was true, that his investigation had encroached into something much larger, but he couldn’t argue the logic they employed about wanting to wait. As much as every bit of him wanted to extract Tek-Yen, to find every other girl just like her that was tucked away in the area, he knew it was the sort of thing they would likely only get a single shot at.
Beyond that, anybody they missed would be gone, either on to the next city or disposed of in much the way Bethanee Ing was.
“So why do it this way?” Reed asked. “Why not pose this to the whole group?”
The question was barely out before Gott snorted, allowing the action to rock him back in his seat, a bitter smile on his face. “Did you see that mess that played out once you got done earlier? Those guys are all so damn worried about their six inches of turf, I guarantee they’re standing in the parking lot right now arguing over who gets to choose where they eat lunch.”
The other three men in the room ignored the comment, Reed and Grimes both honing in on Tucker.
“Because we wanted to have you look at these pictures first,” he said. Using his right hand, he fanned the images as if they were a deck of playing cards, spreading the glossy prints out in a line over two feet in length.
Pulling his hand back, he laced his fingers in front of him and looked up at Reed.
“These were taken via surveillance over the last week. Many of them would be from after your victim was already dead, but there’s a good chance if what we’re both working on are in fact one in the same, she could be here.”
Chapter Forty
The sky overhead was the color of milk, the air a few degrees colder, aided considerably by a persistent wind blowing down out of the northwest. It caught the front flaps of The Businessman’s coat the moment he stepped out of his Lexus, pulling them away from his torso, allowing the icy air to swirl against his body.
On contact, he could feel the air sucked from his lungs, his skin contracting tight, even his fingers clenching from the unexpected jolt.
With his hands wedged deep in the pockets, he jerked his coat back closed in front of him, the damage already done, the movement serving as little more than to trap the cold air against his skin.
Much like the plummeting temperatures, The Businessman could feel his mood plunge even lower than a moment before as he fought to ignore the chill, reaching deep into his pockets and clutching his key ring, the implement already cold to the touch. Finding the plastic fob on the end of it, he depressed the lock mechanism twice in order, hearing a pair of beeps ring out behind him, letting him know that the car was now secure.
Just as his previous trip, he was parked on the curb in front of The Muscle’s house, still very much during business hours, but that did little to ease the apprehension within him. Quite possibly the only thing that could make the day any worse was the thought of something happening to his car, forcing him to either accept a ride in the decrepit vehicle The Muscle insisted on calling a classic or having to walk somewhere for assistance.
With his head down, The Businessman cut a diagonal across the front lawn and took the front steps two at a time, his feet touching down only once before leaping onto the front porch.
Eschewing pulling his hands out of his pockets and risking another blast of winter air against his skin, he pulled up just short of the door, using his foot to knock, kicking at the base of it a half dozen times in total.
The sound of aluminum rattling against its casing was still in the air as the door swung inward, the glowering face of The Muscle standing on the other side of the rusting screen. Already dressed in his usual uniform, the shiny leather coat hanging open a few inches before him, he appeared as if he were about to head out, the expression on his face letting it be known that he did not appreciate the intrusion.
“What do you want?” he growled.
“We need to talk,” The Businessman replied, twisting at the waist to check the street.
Ever since Carter Pyle had left, The Businessman had found himself checking every car that drove by, every person sitting behind a coffee shop window, even the reflections of people in storefronts as they walked by him on the street.
Never before had he been one for paranoia, but never before had he been informed that he was on the radar of every major law enforcement agency in the city.
“Your phone broken?” The Muscle asked.
Twisting back around, The Businessman replied, “This isn’t the kind of thing that can be discussed on the phone.”
“Why not?”
Making no effort to hide the disdain on his face – for either the man or the cold – The Businessman leveled a glare, one eyebrow cocked. “Just open the damn door.”
His features growing hard, letting it be known that he didn’t appreciate the comment or the tone, The Muscle stood resolute for a moment. There both sides remained, only a thin screen separating them, as several moments ticked by, waiting to see which side would blink first.
Aided considerably by the cold, it was The Businessman to do so.
“Carter Pyle came to see me,” he said. “It’s bad.”
Waiting another moment, both to process the information and to drive home the point that he had won, The Muscle stepped back, not reaching to open the door, but not attempting to stop The Businessman as he did so.
Retreating straight back, his boots echoed against the hardwood floors as The Businessman stepped inside and shut the door behind him, the ambient noise of the outside world falling away.
In its absence, the only sound was The Muscle’s heavy breathing, each one loud, the man seething at the entire situation.
Opposite him, The Businessman felt exactly the same way, his features not quite as adept at relaying animosity, but doing their best just the same.
“I thought you said the girl couldn’t be identified?” The Businessman opened with, flinging the words out as a clear challenge, hints of accusation mixed in heavily.
Across from him, the skin around The Muscle’s eyes tightened as he stared in silence, The Businessman almost able to see the gears turning in his mind.
“What?”
“The girl,” The Businessman said, “the one you were so insistent needed to be a public message. I thought you took care of the ID?”
This time any confusion fell away, The Muscle returning to his customary glare. “I did. Teeth, prints, all of it.”
“Apparently not,” The Businessman said. “They fished her ass out of the river and somehow figured out who she is.”
To that The Muscle took a half step forward, obvious that he didn’t like the direction the conversation was going, and folded his arms over his chest, his leather coat squeaking softly with the effort.
“So?”
“So now there’s a damn task force coming together to look into it,” The Businessman snapped. “Every organization in the city is on it, trying to figure out what the hell she was up to.”
Keeping his arms crossed, The Muscle nodded slightly, moving another few inches forward. “But they don’t know a damn thing.”
“I don’t know what they know,” The Businessman replied. “That was way over Pyle’s head, but he seemed to think it was big, and that we should keep our eyes open.”
The last part The Businessman added as a bit of creative license, not particularly caring for the lax stance The Muscle seemed to be taking.
<
br /> As with most things, the man was seeing it as a challenge, almost daring him or whoever they were up against to come after him.
It was that reason, that extreme short sightedness, that bothered The Businessman the most about his partner.
At some point he was going to go after the wrong party, puff his chest out when discretion would be the better path, and it was going to cost them all dearly.
With just a few feet between the two sides, The Muscle rolled his head back an inch or two, using the angle and his height to stare down at The Businessman. He maintained the pose a moment before one corner of his mouth curled up, a look of condescension on his features.
“And so now you’re scared? Is that what this is about?”
Venom, vitriol, acrimony, every form of internal wrath a person could have, all seemed to swell within The Businessman at once. For the first time all day he didn’t feel the chill of the outside air as blood rushed to his face, his every instinct to fly across at the man before him, regardless how ugly the outcome might be.
“No, you dumbass,” The Businessman shot back, the words out before he even realized it, “I’m telling you right now we have two options. We either lay low for a few days, or we pack up and find ourselves a new city.”
After months in Columbus, they were just now to a point where their effort was beginning to pay dividends. Leaving now would be a black mark on them, both financially and more importantly with the powers-that-be in China.
It was not really an option, something them both knew extremely well.
The corner of The Muscle’s mouth retreated back into place as he continued to glare at The Businessman. His nostrils flared as he breathed loudly through his nose, appearing as if he might fly into the smaller man, wanting nothing more than to tear him apart.
Given the way he felt at the moment, The Businessman almost dared him to.
“Alright,” The Muscle eventually capitulated, “we’ll play it your way for a few days, but I ain’t going into hiding. Johnny Law comes around looking for trouble...”
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