The Big Bad Wolf

CHAPTER 22

WHEN I GOT HOME that night, it was quarter past eleven, but there was a surprise waiting

for me. A good one. John Sampson was sitting on the front steps. All six-foot-nine, two

hundred sixty pounds of him. He looked like the Grim Reaper at first but then he grinned

and looked like the Joyful Reaper.

“Look who it is. Detective Sampson.” I smiled back.

“How’s it going, man?” John asked as I walked across the lawn. “You’re working kind of late

again. Same old, same old. You never change, man.”



“This is the first late night I’ve had at Quantico,” I responded a little defensively. “Don’t

start.”



“Did I say anything bad? Did I even cut you with the first of many_ line that’s right there on

the tip of my tongue? No, I didn’t. I’m being good for me. But since we’re talking, you can’t

help yourself, can you?”



“Want a cold beer?” I asked, and unlocked the front door of the house. “Where’s your bride

tonight?”



Sampson followed me inside and we got a couple of Heinekens each; we took them out to

the sunporch. I sat on the piano bench and John plopped down in the rocker, which strained

under his weight. John is my best friend in the world and has been since we were ten years old.

We were homicide detectives, and partners, until I went over to the FBI. He’s still a little

pissed at me for that.

“Billie’s just fine. She’s working the late shift at St. Anthony’s tonight and tomorrow. We’re

doing good.” He drained about half of his beer in a gulp. “No complaints, partner. Far from it.

You’re looking at a happy camper.”



I had to laugh. “You seem surprised.”



Sampson laughed too. “Guess I didn’t think I was the marrying kind. Now all I want to do is

hang with Billie most of the time. She makes me laugh, and she even gets my jokes. How

about you and Jamilla? She good? And how is the new job? How’s it feel to be a Feebie down

at Club Fed?”



“I was just going to call Jam,” I told him. Sampson had met Jamilla, liked her, and knew our

situation. Jam was a homicide detective too, so she understood what the life was like. I really

enjoyed being with her. Unfortunately, she lived in San Francisco and she loved it out there.

“She’s on another murder case. They kill people in San Francisco too. Life in the Bureau is

good so far.” I popped open the second of my beers. “I need to get used to the Bureaucrats,

though.”



“Uh-oh,” Sampson said. Then he grinned wickedly. “Crack in the walls already? The Bureaucrats. Authority problems? So why you working so late? Aren’t you still in orientation,

whatever they call it?”



I told Sampson about the kidnapping of Elizabeth Connolly the condensed version but

then we moved back to more pleasant subjects. Billie and Jamilla, the allure of romance, the

latest George Pelecanos novel, a detective friend of ours who was dating his partner and

didn’t think anybody was onto them. But we all knew. It was like it always was when

Sampson and I got together. I missed working with him. Which led to the next thought: I

needed to figure out some way to get him into the FBI.

The big man cleared his throat. “Something else I wanted to tell you, talk to you about. Real

reason I came over tonight,” he said.

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh. What’s that?”



His eyes avoided mine. “Kind of difficult for me, Alex.”



I leaned forward. He had me hooked.

Then Sampson smiled, and I knew it was good, whatever he was about to share.

“Billie’s got herself pregnant,” he said, and laughed his deepest, richest laugh. Then Sampson

jumped up and bear hugged me half to death. “I’m going to be a father!”