Birds of a Feather. Don Easton

wanted the names of everyone I worked with. I told them. I didn’t want to, but I did.”

      “Fuck ’em. Let them come after us. I hope they do.”

      “No … it’s not that. They wanted home addresses. The names of our wives and kids. Some of it I tried to make up. Giving fake names, but I had lost it. There was a lot of yelling and screaming. I was scared. I might have given them some real names, too. Or maybe I only think I did.… Every time I go to sleep it’s like I’m there again. I can’t tell my nightmares apart from what I really did say.”

      “Hell, I bet hardly any of them spoke English. They won’t remember or know what —”

      “No, the captain spoke good English. He was writing down what I was saying in a notebook. Then he would smile at me as he flipped the pages back and ask some of the same questions over again. They caught me lying a couple of times.”

      “Those fucking bastards,” fumed Adams.

      “I tried to invent new names, but now I’m not sure what I told them. I know I gave them some of the guys’ real names because I figured they probably knew the names of guys who had been here for years. I even gave them yours. Not your real address, but your name. I’m sorry.”

      “Don’t be sorry. We’re flesh and blood. There is only so much any of us can take.”

      “But our families, John. My God, our families …”

      “You were gutsy to be throwing out whatever phony names you did. I can only imagine what the pain would have been like. Most men would have spilled their guts immediately. Did they ask about our office? Do they know where it is?”

      “No, they never asked. I don’t think it occurred to them that we wouldn’t be working out of the downtown office. Which reminds me. What about the four guys who rescued me? Who were they?”

      “FBI agents from the downtown office. I had never met them before, either. Pretty stand-up guys … for FBI agents. Acted almost like real cops.”

      Adams’s attempt to get Patton to smile failed.

      “I never even thanked them,” he said sombrely.

      “I think they would have understood. Under the circumstances, I suspect you had other stuff on your mind.”

      “I think I had lost my mind at that point.”

      “I’ll get ahold of them. I know they’ll want to come and see how you’re doing.”

      “Thanks.”

      “The green Mercedes that set you up … I’m sure they’ve already switched plates. There aren’t too many green Mercedes around, but was there anything besides the colour to identify it?”

      “It did have a small white scrape in the fender behind the right rear tire. Why? You don’t plan on going back to that house, do you? They’ll have cleared out —”

      “I think I already know who owns it. I talked to my friend and he said a guy in the Guajardo cartel by the name of Chico drives a green Mercedes. Chico is an under-boss to the Carrillo Fuentes brothers. He said Chico comes to El Paso regularly to collect money from the pimps who work for him and that he meets them at the Red Poker.”

      “So they might have used him to bait the trap at the house we were working on.”

      “Yeah … and maybe to check out the addresses you threw at them.” Adams stood up and added, “Get some rest, Greg. I’ll be by to see you later.”

      “What are you going to do?”

      “What do you think?”

      “Don’t, John. It ain’t worth it.”

      “Yeah, you’re probably right. Don’t worry, I won’t do anything stupid.”

      Adams felt more sickened and more enraged as he drove back to his office. He didn’t feel any better after telling his boss, Weber, along with the other three bosses in the office what Patton went through and the questions that were asked.

      Adams felt the four bosses shared the same attitude that was summed up by Davidson, who was the senior officer of the FBI contingent in their office.

      Davidson shrugged his shoulders and said, “Well, not much we can do about it. I’m sure Washington will protest.”

      “Protest!” stammered Adams. “If we don’t have the backbone to retaliate after this, none of our families will be safe.”

      “There will be no retaliation,” said Weber, sharply. “We are not like them. It is what separates the good guys from the bad.”

      Adams glared at Weber. “You didn’t see Greg’s face. What they’ve done to him … they broke him. He’ll never be the same.”

      Weber sighed. “I know he’s been through a lot. So have you. You’re angry. We all are. I want you to take a week off. Go home to your wife.”

      An hour later, Adams left the office … but he didn’t go home. He opted instead to go to the Red Poker Saloon.

      chapter eight

      Earl Porter heard the light knock on his door. It had only been twenty minutes since the policewoman had left. He picked up her card from his coffee table and looked at it. Corporal Connie Crane. The knock came again.

      “Who is it?” he yelled.

      The quiet, but persistent knock continued.

      Porter cautiously made his way to the door and looked through the peephole. What he saw was a young girl dressed in a Girl Guide uniform. He breathed a sigh of relief, unlocked the door, and opened it.

      Two men burst inside. One pointed a pistol at him while the other brandished a hunting knife. The man with the knife mockingly said, “We have something to discuss, Señor Porter.”

      Connie Crane and Jack Taggart were walking out of the courthouse together when Connie received a call on her cellphone. Jack saw the shocked look on her face as she listened.

      “I was just there,” she said. “Less than two hours ago … I was interviewing him over a missing person … his girlfriend … Lily Rae.”

      Connie paused and stared at Jack suspiciously and added, “Jack Taggart from Intelligence asked me to talk to him. Before this morning, I had never heard of the guy. I’m with Taggart now … not a problem, we’ll both be there.” After Connie hung up, she stood quietly staring at Jack.

      “What’s up?” asked Jack.

      “What’s up? You mean you’re going to stand here and tell me you don’t know?”

      “If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking. Why are you looking at me like that? What’s going on?”

      “That was Wilson from VPD Homicide. After I left Porter’s this morning, a maid went in to water plants because she thought he was still out of town. She found him tied and gagged to a kitchen chair … with his throat slit.”

      “What the hell? I had nothing to do with it. I was in court. You know that. I’m trying to find Lily Rae. I didn’t want the guy who could tell us where she is, getting murdered. Think about it.”

      Connie paused for a moment, biting her lip as she pondered the situation before replying, “Yeah, okay, I believe you.

      “You should.”

      “Shit, don’t blame me for being suspicious. It’s not like you don’t have a long history for doing things you shouldn’t … and don’t give me that act surprised, show concern, deny, deny, deny routine. There have been far too many bodies turning up around you and far too many coincidences.”

      “So … how’s it feel with the shoe on the other foot?”

      “What do you mean?”

      “Well