Page 13 of So Smitten

“I assume we’re leaving tonight?” Michael asked.

“Unless you have somewhere better to be,” the Boss replied.

“Do you want me to answer that?” Michael asked drily.

“I do not,” the Boss replied. “I want you to get to the airport ASAP and get to Atlanta. The sooner the better.”

“Well, the flight leaves when it leaves, doesn’t it?”

The Boss glared at him. “You decide to be an extra pain in my ass today, Prince? The plane leaves when the two of you have your butts in seats. So take the damned file and piss off.”

He tossed the file at Prince, who caught it with one hand and said, “All right, on our way.”

The three of them left the office and headed to the airport. On the way, Michael said, “So what do you think? Gangland killing?”

“Probably,” Faith said, “but with the potential to turn into a real problem. Atlanta has its share of street gangs, but they’re disorganized and not much of a threat outside of their neighborhoods. The Syndicate likes it that way because there’s less infighting, but if there is infighting or trouble with rival cartels, they can organize everyone in a heartbeat, and then we’re looking at a situation like L.A. in the eighties or New York in the fifties.”

“So why us?” Michael asked. “Why not the DEA?”

“I imagine they’re involved as much as they can be,” Faith opined, “but since drugs aren’t considered a primary motivator in this case, they’re probably waiting on the outside until we uncover something that gives them an excuse to muscle us out of the way.”

“Would I be a bad agent for saying I wouldn’t mind being muscled out of the way on this one? There’s a reason I steered away from organized crime when I was in training.”

“I don’t think it matters,” Faith said. “We’re there to do our jobs and get out. As long as the first part happens, I’m fine with the second one.”

Michael sighed and shook her head. “Between you and me, Faith, I’m no longer ruing the day when it won’t be me having to drop everything in my life to go figure out who killed a couple of scumbags.”

Faith looked over at him and studied his face. The brashness he used to carry was gone, the cockiness mellowed considerably. The lines in his face had deepened, and his eyes showed little of the fire she knew.

This job weighed heavily on everyone. For some, like Faith, the pressure emboldened them, drove them to fight harder and harder until they burned themselves out or finally achieved whatever satisfaction they were looking for.

For others, it wore them down until they were reduced to an echo of who they once were.

Was Michael becoming an echo? Would he, like so many others before him, fade into nothing more than a sad, bitter shell?

And was that any worse than flaming out like a firework the way Faith feared she might?

Go out in a blaze of glory, she used to say to herself. Don’t fizzle.

She was nearing her blaze of glory. Michael was fizzling. Only time would tell which of them had made the right choice.

Or if both had made the wrong one.

CHAPTER FIVE

Detective Janet Garvey seemed just as reluctant as Michael to be involved with this case. Her eyes sported dark circles, and her hair didn’t look like it had been touched in at least twenty-four hours. She greeted the agents tersely, and her demeanor didn’t change as she drove them from an airport to the first crime scene.

“There’s not much left there,” she warned them. “We have to move quickly whenever we get called to Hansen Street. Your dog bite?”

“If he needs to,” Faith replied.

“Good. He might need to. It doesn’t happen often, but I know of a few officers who had to be treated for dog bites when the owners ‘accidentally’ lost control of their animals. Having a dog to protect us might deter some of those accidents.”

“Not many PD fans on Hansen Street, huh?” Michael asked.

“No,” Garvey said, “that’s an understatement.”

Faith kept an eye on the scenery passing them by as they navigated through the streets of Atlanta. The buildings near the airport were the typical mix of late-build luxury and old working-class high-rises in varying states of decay and disarray. Past the airport, things settled to a fairly steady progression from well-to-do to middle class to working class and, when they reached downtown, to poor.

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