“Well, well, well! Look Tim, we have them all together, including their old fossil recruit,” Grace declared, arms folded over chest, complete with shaking head. “Do we have enough sets of cuffs for all of them?”
“Who ordered the set of government stooges for breakfast,” Nick asked, glancing at his friends. “It wasn’t you, was it, fossil?”
“No way,” Dan answered. “Damn, Timmy, I would have figured you’d have shot this foul mouthed dowager by now in self-defense before she spews something that will get you killed. Didn’t you say Grace Slick’s getting a cameo in the new book as an old whore with gout, Hemingway?”
“It’s my next scene,” Nick replied to much amusement at Dan’s retort.
“Dowager? Really?” Grace smacked her partner in the back of the head. “That’s enough enjoyment out of you, Reinhold. Can we talk to you in private, Nick? Paul let us in on a particular plan being formulated in the great Northwest, because we requested your help through him a couple weeks back. You can fill in your social circle if it interests you.”
“Damn, Paul piggybacked a Marshal’s gig on you, Nick,” Gus said. “At least he’s allowing right of first refusal.”
Nick handed Dan his coffee cup. He imitated ‘The Terminator’. “I’ll be back.” While following the two Marshals to their vehicle, Nick smiled, noting something beyond the scope of less enlightened observers. He entered the rear of their all black SUV. Tim slipped into the driver’s seat, while Grace sat crosswise to glare with a grin at Nick after shutting the door.
“You two are finally sleeping together.” Nick watched the startled look springboard across Grace’s features with amusement. She started to stammer out denials, but Nick waved her off. “Too late, Grace Slick, what the hell do I care? Spit out what my boss allowed you to add to my journey north. Yes, I know you and Tim have jurisdiction over the entire west coast sector. Is someone breathing down your necks over at the DOJ?”
“How… oh, the hell with it. Yes, we’ve been working a damn serial killer case in the Seattle area in conjunction with the FBI’s special branch, led by a woman named Kaitlin Anderson. She thinks she’s the second coming of a real life ‘Criminal Minds’ TV show character. There’s a guy in Seattle, maiming young prostitutes as if he were ‘Jack the Ripper’. He’s the TV show wannabe’s worst nightmare: random slayings, random time intervals, random ages, random appearances, and random races – nine victims so far, not counting the three pimps they can’t connect for sure.”
“I read about him. ‘The Seattle Ripper’, the press calls the killer. On the positive side, I heard prostitution is down,” Nick commented with the express purpose of getting a rise out of Grace. He was not disappointed.
“That is fucked up, you psychopathic-”
“Grace!” Tim shook his head at his partner. “Nick’s messing with your head. Stay on point.”
“Heh… heh. Okay, so we have a slicer and dicer carving the prostitute population, while an FBI special branch bimbo condescendingly blames you and Tim because she’s locked into a serial killer motif in one of her text books.”
Tim glanced back. “Exactly. Grace can’t get her to consider any other approach, but the FBI formula zombies are attacking us, claiming we’re shackling their investigation with incompetence. We’ve only been allowed in support, and belittled every step of the way. The son-of-a-bitch hacked a fourteen year old runaway into pieces a couple days ago after a two week layoff.”
“The AG called us on a conference call,” Grace admitted. “This has gone nationwide, Nick. In another few weeks, this bastard will be doing interviews with CNN about policing agency complete helplessness. The AG asked for you. He says name your price. If you can bring the asshole in alive as if it were a law enforcement task force effort, he’ll double your asking price. Bottom line is he wants this killer stopped, by any means necessary.”
Nick shrugged, because he had something in mind for this serial killer, and it had nothing to do with giving out credit to law enforcement. He stayed silent as Grace’s mouth went to full torque. Her fists clenched in absolute rage as what Nick wanted blasted into her head. Tim grabbed her hand.
“Don’t Grace. Paul said Nick would insist on it. At least he trusted us with the truth. We want to stop this perverted psychopath. We can’t be choosy about the method.”
“Damn it, Nick! Couldn’t we do this by the book with your insights? You could even get official credit with Nick McCarty, bestselling New York Times author, consults with the FBI and the US Marshal’s Service to bring a murdering psychopath to justice.”
“Heh…heh.”