This job was my life. I had no boyfriend, family, or friends. I spent every waking moment focusing on the task at hand. That's how I liked to live—that's how I got through each day without wanting to kill myself.
“We brought him in Agent Swift,” Malarkey told me. I entered the abandoned building the FBI was using as their headquarters for this district. We weren't usually able to conduct any business in here since being condemned to the closet in the parking garage. But today was different. Things were finally going to go my way.
“Let me handle this one alone, Malarkey.”
“Are you sure. This guy might be a handful.”
I winked. “Don't worry, I got this.”
“Whatever you want, boss.”
I slid my key card in the slot next to the door. A chime rang and I opened it. I went into Interrogation Room 1-B and set my folders down in front of the Mexican with a gray goatee.
“How are you doing today, Miguel?”
“Fucking puta,” he muttered.
“I'm doing fine, thanks for asking.” I sat down across from him at the steel table. Miguel's wrists were handcuffed and a short steel chain connected him to the cement ground. He wasn't going anywhere. I looked over at the two-way mirror, knowing that Malarkey was watching us.
“So the FBI makes the women do all their dirty work now.” He spat through his teeth.
Since joining the FBI, I'd heard it all. Nothing phased me anymore. When I was a rookie, the guys played pranks on me all the time: hiding my clothes while taking a shower, calling me Mr. Swift, and the worst of all—cutting my hair while I slept. They thought they might be able to get me to quit. But I wasn't going anywhere. I liked the way short hair looked on me.
“Miguel, I want to talk about the meeting you had with Dark Steel earlier today.”
“I'm not saying a thing to you,” he replied, seething with anger.
All motorcycle clubs were the same. They all hated the law and never spoke to cops. They would rather go to prison than rat on their brothers. Blah blah blah. But in reality, they ratted out their MC all the time. It was actually pretty easy to get them to cave. All you needed was a little leverage.
“We can play this game all day and all night if you wish, Miguel. But I'd rather just cut to the chase.” I slid the file forward until it was right under his nose. He stared straight ahead, his head not bowing down. I flipped the folder open to a picture of a bloodied waiter on the floor of the restaurant. Miguel didn't even glance at it.
“Do you know what happened at San Giovanni's?” I asked. Miguel didn't respond but a twist of his lip told me everything I needed to know.
“I'm sure you know your guys messed up big time when they left the corpse of one of your men behind at the crime scene. But they messed up even more than that.” I flipped the pages of the file and came to the shots of the shooting. “I bet they didn't realize there was a street camera that caught the whole act.”
Miguel finally looked down at the file. He examined the photos closely and sighed. I had him right where I wanted.
“We already identified who the other shooters are.” I pulled out the rap sheets of each shooter involved.
“Cut the bullshit, lady. If this was about the shooting, you'd have these guys in cuffs and not me.”
I stood up from the table and paced around the room. “You're a smart man, Miguel.”
Miguel was indeed very smart. I had read his file the FBI had on him. He grew up on the streets after his mother and father were gunned down right in front of him. At the age of fifteen, he joined the Los Diablos and at eighteen, he became their leader. Flash forward forty-five years later and his club owned the east side of town, knocking out all the other Mexican clubs with barely any bloodshed. He never got his hands dirty which was why he was able to stay out of jail all this time.
“I want to offer you a deal.” I walked behind him and continued, “I don't want your club. The Los Diablos aren't even on my radar.” I sat back down at the table to gauge his reaction. “All I want is the Dark Steel MC.”
Miguel's eyebrow arched. “You're full of shit.”
“Cut the attitude, Miguel. We both know you've doing this too long to be angry at the law anymore.”
Miguel shifted in his seat. “What do I get it?”
“Your club will have full immunity. Give me everything you have on Dark Steel and your members won't be charged.”
Miguel pushed the file back towards me. “And what about this?”
“We'll charge the one that died with the murder of the waiter and everyone else will get away scot-free. We all win.”
Miguel folded his hands and sighed. “I want all this in writing and I want my lawyer to go over it.”
I glanced over at the two-way mirror and nodded. Dark Steel would finally be mine.