“They’re not going anywhere,” Nick said. “I figured you’d be around today after I talked with Grace and Tim this morning. My friends you just insulted will be staying.”
“It’s your funeral. Dominic Calhoun, Rafe Lansing, and Jess Boyer are all missing after their friends said they were coming to talk with you. Where are they?”
Liar. No way did those three goons tell anyone they were meeting with me. “Two of those men I’ve never heard of, and I had no meeting with them. I don’t know what friends of theirs you’re referring to; but if they told you those three were meeting with me, they’re mistaken. If those guys are missing, file a missing persons report. Since when does a special task force with the FBI work on missing persons cases not crossing state lines? Let the local police handle it.”
“You’d like that McCarty,” Anderson said. “We found their abandoned vehicles in Centralia. What did you do with the bodies?”
Cassie gasped, covering her mouth with her hand, looking wildly at Nick. “Let me get you a lawyer, Nick.”
“It’s okay, Cass,” Nick assured her, taking out his iPhone slowly and carefully. He spoke only a few words. “Yes Sir, Agent Anderson is with me now. Sure. Wait one.”
“Either of you other guys named Burnison?”
The agent on Anderson’s left spoke. “I’m Burnison.”
Nick handed him his phone, noticing Anderson’s color becoming red raged. “This is for you.”
“Agent Burnison here.” Burnison’s demeanor stiffened, and his mouth tightened to a thin slash. “Yes Sir, I understand. I will call you before the plane leaves, Sir.”
Burnison handed Nick back his phone. He then held out his hand to Anderson. “Gun and badge, Anderson.”
“What the hell? Have you lost your mind?”
“That was the Director on the phone. You’re under arrest, and I am to strip you of weapon and badge. If you don’t comply I will draw on you.”
“This is a mistake!” Anderson complied as Burnison gripped his weapon.
“Restrain her, Dick,” Burnison directed. “Put your hands behind your back, Kaitlin. Agent Scone will then handcuff you. Do it now.”
The now sullen Anderson did as ordered. “Are you sure about this, Mal?”
“The Director of the FBI just now told me to cuff Kaitlin and take her badge and gun. We’re to pack our things and get the hell back to DC on the first flight available. Yeah… I’m sure.” Burnison turned to Nick. “I’m very sorry for this inconvenience, Marshal McCarty.”
“Thank you for your cooperation, Agent Burnison. I’m sorry it went down like this, but I made some calls when I was told your task force was still in town. Have a nice flight home, Sir.”
Burnison nodded and took Anderson’s arm. She forced a turn toward Nick. “This isn’t over, McCarty!”
For your sake, I hope you’re wrong. “You okay, Cass?”
“What the hell was that all about, Nick?”
“Sometimes my consultations with federal task forces don’t meet with the approval of all task force members. Then one of them does something stupid and I have to make an adjustment. Often, only a stern warning like today is all that’s needed, but in rare cases a more serious statement has to be made.”
“That was just the stern warning?”
“Believe me,” Gus said, putting his arm around Cassie’s shoulders, “that was a stern warning. Is there a bar around here?”
“Sure.”
“Let’s take Nick to it and make him buy us a couple of drinks, Cass.”
“That sounds wonderful, Gus. Doesn’t it, Nick?”
“Yep. Indeed it does. We can’t overdo it though, because Gus and I have to pack. We’re going home tomorrow, and I have to take Deke for a long walk tonight.”
“Do you think that Agent Anderson will make trouble for you?”
“Possibly,” Nick answered, “but only for a short time.”
*
“Dante. Chino says be at the Torch Lite Inn at noon.” The young man called out from the passenger window of a 1962 midnight blue Buick Electra.
Dante Rivera had turned the moment he heard the street fill with noise behind him as he neared the rundown apartment house on 2nd Street. He relaxed when he saw the familiar car. “What kind of business we into at high noon, Pero.”
“Suren?o business, Cabrone. Be there.”
Rivera watched the Buick roll down the street music making the houses vibrate as it went by. Suddenly, he wasn’t alone. Dante knew it a split second before the needle pain in his neck erased pain, thought, and consciousness. He awoke with his head pounding, bound and gagged in the back of an empty delivery van. Three men all in black, one with a full face clown mask and the other two with black silk masks. They sat calmly on small beach chairs.
“He’s awake,” one of the black masked men said, moving over Dante and removing the gag. “Hey kid. How you feeling?”
“Muer…Muerto!”
The masked man laughed as did his companions. “Ah, you know El Muerto, huh?”