Chapter Forty-One

 

DAVIS

 

I don't know if this is going to work, but it's going to have to. Not working isn't an option. I take a few deep breaths and fight down the panic that's rising in my chest.

What if they make me? What if I'm wrong? What if—a thousand questions are running through my head. I waited for an hour after Ryan said he was going to be there. If he's not there, and he's not answering his phone, it must be for a damned good reason.

So I'm on my own, and he's on his own, too, for that matter. If someone picked up his brother, then it was only one of two people. It was either the A.T.F., or it was the Crazy Horses.

I'm starting to think that they're not as separate as I might have imagined them to be. Something stinks in this whole setup. I can't shake the feeling that there's something more going on here than meets the eye.

The only way I'm going to get answers is by going to the source, but I only know one side is involved for sure. They've got a guy on the inside, or we've got a guy inside their organization. I have to gamble, and the stakes are pretty high.

As in, get yourself shot, high. I don't like it one bit; I can feel my pulse pounding in my ears and my neck and my arms. Every inch of my body. It hurts, like an itch I can't scratch.

A little voice inside me, the one responsible for trying to make sure that I don't get shot, tells me to stay in my car. I should just walk away. I can still salvage my career on this. I can get away with my life. I can do whatever needs doing.

I can always go forward arguing that I didn't think there was enough evidence to hold Beauchamp. There isn't enough, not unless we find someone to testify. Especially now that Hawkins is dead.

I could walk away from all of this right now, and I wouldn't hurt myself one bit. I would be just fine. Only…

A vague feeling that I'm wrong. One I can't shake. There's more at stake here than just Ryan Beauchamp, and that by itself is a big stake. Bigger for me, personally, than I want to admit.

There's more going on, though, under the surface. Who warned the Crazy Horses that it was a trap? The question keeps coming up, and now matter how I turn it over in my head, I can't figure a better answer than that someone on the command chain must have done it.

That call Danny made, the one to Donaldsen… it puts me on edge. There's something else that I don't like about it. It raises doubts, doubts I couldn't have acted on five years ago when I decided I couldn't swallow his cum any more, even if I'd had them.

What I need is positive proof. Proof that he's letting the biggest God damned gang in the country run drugs through the border with impunity.

Is it some sort of tit-for-tat relationship? I don't know, and I don't care. I need to figure out who's at the bottom of this, and if it gets me shot, well, them's the breaks.

I suck in a breath. If they're anywhere then there's someone here who can talk to me. Beauchamp was taken here when he got himself picked up. Scheck was here only a few hours ago. It's not unreasonable to assume.

Somehow, reasonable to assume, and a good guess, doesn't help me to feel any better. The buzz of exhaustion has gone to my ears now, a high-pitched whistle that I didn't notice starting.

Now it seems impossible not to notice it, almost hard to hear anything over it. I push the breath back out and tighten my jaw. Then I pound on the door.

It takes a long time for someone to answer. Ten seconds. Twenty. I'm almost to thirty seconds when finally I hear a voice shout on the other side of the door.

"No soliciting!"

I can feel my jaw tightening up more. It's going to start hurting soon, if I don't slacken it, but it does its own thing.

"Donaldsen sent me."

There's no response, at least not right away. I wonder if they've got to go see how to respond to that. It's promising.

"What do you want?" The voice is different this time. That's a dead ringer for something that needed to be confirmed, then.

"He sent me to talk. Said that there's someone in the A.T.F. poking around."

The voice on the other side is muffled, but I can still hear them. They're talking for a second to the other one behind the door. Finally the guy on the other side of the door raises his voice. "Show your badge."

I flip my badge holder open and hold it up to the peep-hole in the door. It's a little unusual for a warehouse like this, but I didn't question it.

With the tenants living here, it isn't hard to imagine that they got plenty of use out of it. A minute later the door opens.

I don't recognize the people on the other side except tangentially. They look basically human, and a lot like the sort of person you expect. I might have seen them in the pictures of Marissa Scheck I looked through, but not enough to stand out.

The one who looks like he's in charge starts walking off with little more than a nod. I'm going to follow him, and he knows it. So I let him take me through the facility.

This place is a lot more carefully put-together than the actual warehouse I raided with Ryan and his boys. That place looked like they'd put it together in a week, and never had need to redo it. It had shown signs of heavy use, but it was all cheap stuff.

This place was less cheap. Solid walls. Most of them painted. The concrete floor gave away the game, though. It was still a warehouse, walls or not.

They sit me down in an empty room. "Someone will be with you in a few."

The guy leaves. I can hear his steps picking up speed as he leaves. I don't know whether or not to be worried. I already am, though, so it doesn't much matter. I just have to hope that it will work out. Maybe he's hurrying because a friendly A.T.F. visit is a big deal.

A few minutes later, I'm joined by a woman in a red dress. She's got long blonde hair and exudes sex. It puts me immediately off her.

"Scheck."

"Agent Davis. Good of you to drop by."

"So you know who I am?"

"Of course we know who you are, darling. You must be worried we're going to kill you."

The way her dress fits, she couldn't have a knife on her that I didn't see. Never mind a gun.

"It had crossed my mind."

"You're Martin's pet, though. So hands off."

She raises her hands. They're small and smooth and very feminine, setting my teeth on edge some more.

"So why meet with me?"

"I was curious. What brings you here? Right into the lion's den, and all that."

"You have Brian Beauchamp."

"Say we did, what about it?"

"I need him."

Scheck's attractively plump, ruby-red lips purse together. "I need him, too, and I have him. You're not doing your job, so we have to do it for you? Fine. But you can have him after we're done with him."

I take a deep breath. "Alive?"

"Sure. You were supposed to clean up this mess, Jada."

Being called by my name sets me on edge. "Don't call me that."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Is that a sore spot? I know that it can be, after a rough breakup."

I hold back the snarl. I'm not going to let her get a rise out of me. But the look on her face says that I didn't hold it back well enough, and she's already gotten what she wanted.