Chapter Twenty-Nine

 

DAVIS

 

I lean back in the seat. It's not often that I let someone else drive, but I don't remember the last time I slept, so I'll let Danny handle it. Just this once.

I open my eyes what feels like a second later, and we're sitting outside of the field office. I look up, tiredness still clinging to my eyes.

"Did I fall asleep?"

Danny shrugs. "Only a little."

"I didn't snore, did I?"

He shrugs again.

I don't like it one bit, but I don't have anything to say. I slide out of the car and straighten up. A yawn rockets through me. Surprise.

He goes through the door first. I go through second, still rubbing at my eyes. We've only got another forty hours until I'll be effectively out of a job, and I don't know how in the fuck we're planning to do any of this.

Still, with a name on the list, now, I can at least say that we're moving forward. We know who we're looking for, and who we're looking at.

Scheck is the sort of woman you'd expect to be a gangster's wife. She's the sort of person who might get a false positive on a lineup because she looked about right and the witness is guessing.

Well, sometimes appearances can be deceiving.

Sometimes they aren't, though. Lots of times, you look at someone, you think 'they look like a scumbag,' and they are. It's a fine line between knowing that you're just guessing based on their looks, and remembering that sometimes you guess right.

This is one of those cases where it's easy to guess right. I swallow hard. This information changes a lot. We can start talking about who's really in charge, now.

Is she using McCallister's authority? If that were the case, wouldn't Beauchamp have heard about it? She'd have used the old 'well, Brent said…' act. But she didn't, or at least, he didn't hear her do it.

Which paints a different picture entirely. Whatever happened to Brent McCallister, nobody had any question whether or not he was coming back, or at least no question that he wasn't coming back soon. He was gone, and he was going to stay gone, and that was how it was going to be for them.

The thought that they might have deposed him crosses my mind. But I know these types. I've been dealing with them since long before I got into the A.T.F.

I don't know any of them who would have accepted a woman as their leader, right off the bat. Would there have been some kind of fight? Some kind of confirmation? Is there a group of them running the gang now?

I shake my head. No use speculating. We know that she's got some control, which means that everyone near the top is going to be a close associate of hers. That's our way in.

I don't need another one, and I sure as hell don't need to sit here and speculate. The lack of sleep is starting to get to me, and I can feel it. I need to get myself under control, and I need to do it now.

I comb through photos, taking notes. Not every person in every photo is going to mean something. But as I look, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, a pattern is beginning to emerge.

Danny brings me a cup. It's hot and I take a sip of it. I'm not a coffee drinker, never have been. He knows that. I drink it anyways, my face twisting up in disgust. How could someone drink something so bitter?

I can feel the rush of energy almost immediately, though. Like the heat of the coffee is running straight through my veins.

A pattern…

Three names come up. Over and over and over. Michael Carabello, Shane Rosen, Antonio Dupree.

Rosen will have been the big son of a bitch that Beauchamp saw. Without a doubt. Nobody would look at Carabello without noticing the tattoos, without pointing them out.

Nobody in the world would describe Antonio Dupree as a big guy. He's five-eight and couldn't weigh more than a buck fifty. Just about every photo, one of those three. Sometimes more.

Rarely all four in the same picture, but that's just smart, I figure. It means that there's no chance in hell that all of them get taken out at once. It makes my life more complicated, though.

I need to get them all, and I need to get them all at once. Otherwise, the ones left just make up for the lost headcount. It won't take long, and while it will cripple them for a little while, it won't stick. Not well enough to say I did any goddamn thing at all.

I take my list. We just need to find these four. It shouldn't be hard. We have a small staff on hand, but it's enough to do what needs to be done.

I step into Danny's office, the one right beside mine. He sets the phone in the cradle a second after I come in, the conversation already over before I got there.

"Danny. We gotta go."

"I just got off the phone with Donaldsen," Danny answers. He's standing up, pulling his jacket on. Getting ready to go.

He might not know what I have going on, but he knows that I'm in charge, and he listens. I like that. No questions.

"Yeah?"

"Where are we going?"

"We have a list of suspects."

I can't make out what, but I hear a hard plastic 'click' and I turn. Danny's got the gun out of his holster. It's hanging there at his side, but his hand's wrapped around the handle and there's no question that he'll use it if he has to.

"We already had a suspect, boss. You let him go. Twice!"

I swallow. The tiredness is starting to hit me again, rolling on in waves. I need to sleep. I needed to sleep eight hours ago.

"Did Donaldsen put you up to this?"

"You need to pick him up, Jada."

"Don't fucking call me that," I growl. The anger cuts nicely through the exhaustion, reminds me of what I'm doing. Reminds me who I am, where I am, and how I got here.

"You're right. I'm sorry. Davis. You need to listen to me, okay? We're friends."

"Put the gun away, Danny."

"I can't do that, boss. I'm sorry."

I bolt for the door. I hear Danny shout to stop me, but by then I'm already past the only two people left in the place, this late at night.

We've got a list of suspects. Real heavies. People who can make or break the drug trade through this state. And Donaldsen is trying to get me to bring in only one of the three brothers running a smaller operation.

I hit the door hard with my shoulder and it swings open. I'm in the car before the next body comes out through the door, the door is locked and the ignition is on by the time they hit the car, trying to open it up and get me out.

They're too late. I'm already gone. Already in the wind. I drive, swerve to avoid Danny, who's decided the best way to stop me is to get himself run over. He's not quick enough. Never was.

I speed off into the distance. The next step is an obvious one. They're going to pick up Ryan now. I can't afford to let this get out of my fingers, and that means I have to get to him first.