I sit in the corner of the Captain's office, reviewing the tapes. I listen live as much as I can, but I'm still a detective with other duties. And since the Captain, Marie, and I are the only ones working on this case, there's no one else to fill in.
I fast-forward through a few hours of silence. It's been three days since Marie put the bug in the president's office, and so far the most interesting thing I've heard is a good dirty joke.
Captain Ebert walks inside and gives me a questioning glance. I shake my head and pull the headphones off of one ear. "Nothing yet."
He sits down behind his desk and I watch him out of the corner of my eye. Marie might be pissed at me, but she doesn't know that I've been pressing the Captain about her safety. The whole bug thing, that was the Captain's idea, and I fought him hard on it.
He's just desperate at this point. I might have lost my best friend and partner to the Death Dealers, but the Captain lost his son. I know the pain runs deeper. He looks like he's aged ten years in the last one. His skin is dry and grey, and I saw a half-empty bottle of vodka in his desk drawer the other day. I wouldn't blame him for self-medicating, but I need him at top shape. There's only three of us on this assignment.
Well, maybe two. Marie's compromised. I can't stop thinking about the way Ford had his hands on her. So comfortable, like he owned her.
She was too young and green to be sent undercover. That's why she's developed real feelings for this Ford guy. I can't believe there's really something redeemable about him. She's there all by herself, and found someone who seems like he's protecting her. It's understandable, even if it does make my blood boil.
A voice on the tape snaps me out of my reverie. That's Tank. I know his voice well by now. He's calling something out to another person in the office, then I hear him shut the door. There's a long pause.
"I don't fucking care if it's not a good time," I hear him growl. "After all I've given you, and now the Mexicans are securing a route through my territory. Why are you not the ones giving me this information?"
I've never heard Tank angry before. Usually he sounds relaxed and jovial. There's a minute of silence as I assume Tank listens to the person on the other end of the line. Ebert's watching me, having sensed a shift in my body language.
"I've already given you dozens," I hear Tank hiss. "I took out Brick, for fuck's sake." I reach out and stop the recording, then pull off my headphones.
"What?" Ebert says.
"Tank just told someone on the phone that he took out Brick," I tell him.
"Brick? The old president?"
"I assume there isn't another one."
"I thought he died in a deal gone wrong, and then Tank took over."
"So did I. And so do most of the Death Dealers, from what I can tell."
"Who's he talking to?"
"Don't know yet." I pull out my headphones and press play on the recording. Tank's voice fills the office.
"You just take and take, that's what you do," Tank says. "I'm not fucking saying I'm innocent. Put McGinty on, you Polish fuck." I pause the tape again and stare at the Captain.
"McGinty? You know a McGinty?" I ask him.
"McGinty…" he says, frowning. "There's a Peter McGinty at the Phoenix FBI field office. Hang on, let me check something." He turns to his computer and starts typing. "And McGinty's partner's name is Kowalski."
"Sounds pretty Polish to me."
"And they work in organized crime."
I take a deep breath. "So, wait, hang on. Let's say Tank is talking to two FBI agents. That would mean…"
"He's an informant," Ebert finishes for me. "So he has a deal with them. He becomes the President of the Death Dealers, and they allow him to grow his empire in peace as long as he turns over a regular stream of other criminals."
"You really think the FBI would do something like that?"
"Don't be naïve," Ebert grunts. "That's how Whitey Bulger and his gang stayed in power in Boston for decades."
"He said he took out Brick. That would mean the deal where Brick died was a setup, and the FBI at least knew about it, and maybe even helped."
"I wouldn't put it past them. Some agents will do anything to raise their profile, and Tank must be giving them some pretty impressive collars. Maybe they approached Brick first, but he refused."
"And Tank was much more willing to sell out. So much for honor among thieves."
"It would explain how they've stayed ahead of us. Maybe there wasn't a leak here at all."
"That would be a relief. I've hated looking over my shoulder at my fellow cops. These two FBI agents could have been feeding Tank information all along to keep him in power."
"And the consequences to the people here be damned," Ebert says, anger growing in his eyes. "I don’t care if Tank is turning over high-level criminals, the Death Dealers have to be taken down. The people in this town are getting slammed. It's just like the FBI to care more about the big names than taking down the menace that's actually affecting people's lives."
I press play again on the computer. "Fine, I got something for you, but he's one of my best guys. You gotta have something big for me in return. Their next big run, I want to know about it first. Every little detail. When, where, how many guys, everything. Fine you got yourself a deal." There's a pause. "Okay, there's this club called the Spiders MC. Yeah, I know they're not functioning anymore, I'm the one who took them out, remember? So, while we were there doing our thing, we found a prospect hiding out, and one of mine beat him to death."
"Shit, he's turning over one of his own on a murder charge?" I whisper to Ebert. "That's cold."
"Just find one of the old Spiders and ask 'em where the body is. They'll be more than happy to get their revenge. Oh, his name's Ford. Matt Ford."
I reach out and stop the tape. The Lieutenant and I stare at each other.
"We've got to get Marie out of there," he says.